


Too Much Boom

by fadeverb



Series: Leo [2]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 74,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo is your average Calabite of Fire, just trying to get his job done. It's a pity that the universe is conspiring against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Pleasant Evening Suddenly Goes Downhill, and Then Begins Rolling Faster

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of novella-length works I wrote years ago; each story (except for the last, which I'll warn on) is already complete. I'm putting up chapters as I finish editing them to be nearer my current standards.

My phone rings when my hands are all bloody; another cell phone is about to go the way of the last dozen. I stop, straighten up, and wipe my hands off my pants. Then flip the phone open. All my phones fall apart sooner or later, but I work on a budget, so I try to keep it to later. "What do you want?"

"Leo? Been looking at the plans you sent me." Only one person in the world can sound so apathetic and yet so peeved at the same time, which means it's my boss. "I don't think you're using enough material to take the building down all at once."

"Look," I say, and she's entirely ruined the moment, so I stand up and leave the man bleeding in the alley. Someone's bound to find him eventually. "Do you want the most bang for your buck, or do you just want flashy? Because those plans are offering you effective, but if you'd prefer _loud_ , I can change them." One of the nice things about having a Djinn for a boss is that so long as there's plenty of time between when we talk and when I show up, she won't hold insubordinate speech against me, because it would be too much of a bother to remember to be angry about it when I come in. Better than my last job, that.

"It doesn't look like enough," she repeats. "You'll need twice as much to take out the supports--"

"Not with how I've placed them," I say, now far enough away from The Idiot With The Truck to talk explicitly. "One tap in the right place is more effective than a lot of noise and wasted energy in the wrong place, and my plans will _work_. Trust me."

"I'm not sure about that," the boss says, and I can tell she's made up her mind about it. "I'm going to recommend double the material for each point."

"Fine, _fine_ , but if we're using twice as much, that's twice as much chance someone will notice." I can almost hear the cell phone degrading in my hand as my temper rises, so I give the wall I'm passing a look. Graffiti, none of it the artistic type, nothing but scrawled tags and obscenities. The paint doesn't go deep, and if you take off the top layer of the wall, it'd be clean again.

That's always good for making me feel a bit better, watching a layer of the wall crumble into dust. Ta-da, clean wall. Paint-free, but graffiti-free as well. Call it my community service for the night. "You're the boss. You want more boom, you get more boom. Never hurts to have more boom. Was that all you wanted?"

"Until tomorrow, yes." Ylva proves, as always, impervious to sarcasm from subordinates. She hangs up, and I stow the phone in the messenger bag I'm carrying. The further it is from me, the longer it'll last.

"Going anywhere particular, darling?"

I twitch, manage not to do so _too_ obviously. It's only Erica, who's managed to sneak up behind me again. She looks fourteen, has ID to prove she's eighteen, tells her clients she's twelve. Typical Lustie, except that most of them don't go sneaking around on Calabim. "Don't sneak up on me. And what do you want?"

"But it makes you jump so prettily." She giggles, and puts her hands behind her back, swishes her hips. Like I'd care. "Heard the disturbance, Leo, what do you think? I take it that was you?"

Oh, right. The human. "He parked his truck across two spaces. I called him on it. He claimed divine right and possession, I suggested we handle the matter like gentleman, and it all went swimmingly from there. What do you care?" She's better than most at catching disturbance, and I hadn't realized she was so close by tonight.

"Baby, disturbance means people who aren't human messing around, and that can mean trouble. I like to keep an eye on things. Wouldn't want the area to get too...interesting. I like peace and quiet. Means no one's afraid to stop by and see me." She grabs the collar of my shirt, yanks me down to stare her in the eyes. Erica is always a reminder of the whole "you can't tell a celestial by its vessel" principle. I have no doubt she could throw me across the street. "You would tell me if there was trouble coming, right?"

"Depends," I say, and grin. Supervisors aside, never let them see you flinch. "How much would you pay to know?"

She laughs. "Nice try, but you're not getting out of that favor so easily. But if you disrupt business, I'll hunt you down, skin you alive, and then start getting creative, got it?"

"You make your point as clearly as ever, Erica." I wait for her to release me. "Want to do me another favor tonight?"

She looks into my eyes, and snorts. "I don't try to reason with Djinn. You're on your own with your boss. Now get out of the way. You're scaring off my customers."

The street's nearly empty, but who am I to argue with a violent Lilim?

Back at my place, I kick drifts of dirty laundry out of the way as I walk, collapse onto the couch. And then take a few minutes to stare at the cheap plates stacked on the coffee table.

Bang.

Bang.

So sorry, please try again.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Five bucks I'm never getting back, and a mess to sweep up later, but at least it's soothing. The world makes more sense when it's falling apart.

The remote's broken again, so I slap on the TV, and retreat before it can take in too much entropy. This is the downside of being a Calabite. Sure, I can destroy things with my mind, but it would be nice if I could focus that more precisely. There's something they didn't cover when I was first made. "Here's how to make things blow up," yeah, got that in spades. "Incidentally, a career in VCR repair is right out," not so much. Nor did they see fit to mention that every celestial I run into would assume I'm a brain-dead puppy-kicking bruiser.

Number one, I'm not brain-dead. Four Ethereal Forces, thank you very much, and I am _good_ at my job, or my Prince wouldn't have me on the corporeal plane. Number two, I don't kick puppies. Never wanted to, and ever since that run in with a Cherub of Animals, I've been cautious around the furry inhabitants of this planet. Animals keep to themselves, I'll leave them be. It's not like they're humans, going out of their way to annoy me.

Number three, I don't leave bruises, I leave holes. You can't _bruise_ a door into submission.

I probably ought to be watching television, on general "Yay Hell, go Nybbas" principles, but there's nothing worth paying attention to at this time of night. And I can't get Ylva's decision out of my head. I worked out the sums within a few grams of perfection, it was a _beautiful_ plan. I drew diagrams, ran numbers, spent two weeks on field trip examining similar buildings. I did field tests with measured amounts of the explosive and recorded the results and tweaked, and she wants to double all my amounts because she thinks there won't be enough boom?

I have to get a boss with more Ethereal Forces.

The night rolls on by, television blathering at me while I try to work out a way to accommodate twice as much force without doing something stupid. Our Prince is all for destruction, but there's something to be said for planning it properly. I don't trust my boss's Soldiers to set things up properly without supervision, but I can't hover around them throughout the process or we start getting back to the whole issue of disturbance. Which, given my knowledge of the nearest Seneschal for Fire, I am concerned about. I like keeping my fingernails attached to my vessel.

More importantly, I'm worried about unintended consequences. Taking down a building is never subtle, but this boom? This is the kind of boom that leaves traces of the explosives, and causes unplanned damage. Just because I'm a slob doesn't mean I want to do messy work.

Dawn hits, and with it the radio alarm clock next door. Two monkeys babble through a high-volume talk show about sex and politics. The endless fascination mortals have for that kind of thing...is not their fault, given Malphas and Andrealphus, but I can still resent the noise. 

The monkey in the next-door apartment hits the snooze button twelve times before actually getting up.

Once he's gone for the day, I pick the lock on the door and go blast his alarm clock. Then, because I'm annoyed, I make sure his television, microwave, refrigerator, and window AC won't be working when he gets home.

Yeah, petty. But I have to fill up my idle hours. And my Prince, understanding the peculiar needs of my Band so well, has made sure that I can blast whatever I want without rocking the Symphony. Pity I can't do the same with explosives.

I had a car, once. It reached the point where it was spending more time in the shop than out, so now I walk. What else do I have to do with my morning hours?

When I reach the office, the secretary's trying to fan herself discreetly with her memo pad. "Morning, Holly. Is the boss in yet?" Ylva doesn't believe in air conditioning. That always keeps August interesting.

"Already in," Holly says, and gives me a pathetic little smile. "She's in her office with the new hire."

I pause with my hand in Holly's candy dish. "New hire?"

"Oh, did you not get the memo?"

Memo. Right. In that office of mine. On the desk I have. Which is covered in papers. Office paperwork comes by and I toss into the inbox, and after a while I move it to the outbox; anything relevant, I've written myself. "Must've slipped my mind. No worries. So, what do you think of the new guy?"

"Well," Holly says, and she looks away from me. "He seems a bit young for the job, but I'm sure he has excellent qualifications."

"Mmhmm." I drop the candy into my pocket. "I'll be sure to stop by and say hi." And ask my boss why she didn't tell me that we were getting in an intern. Not that the 'why' is likely to be more than typical Djinnish passive-aggressive behavior. 

The office is currently composed of her, me, two Hellsworn, two slightly clued-in mundanes, and ever-clueless Holly, perfect foil for angelic resonances. Which raises the question, what are we getting? Humans I can ignore, but another demon means politics.

I hate dealing with politics when I'm not allowed to just kill people.

I've barely had a chance to sit down at my desk when the intercom buzzes. "Leo? The boss wants to talk to you," Holly says. Because of course Ylsa will buzz the secretary and give her a message instead of contacting me directly.

"Thanks," I say, and get back up. I pop a peppermint on the way over, concentrate on crunching that. Not supposed to destroy things in the office. Been explicitly told not to destroy things in the office. It's a damn good thing I don't need to buy groceries, because the boss docks my paycheck every time she has to fix another hole in the wall. At least she's stopped giving me computers and then expecting me to keep them from dying horrible smoky deaths.

I knock on her door on my way in. Let's see, inventory of the office. One Djinn, seated behind her Giant Desk of Doom, every hair in place: check. One pretty-boy kid, looks to be college age, studying me from where he's seated: check. Other listeners: uncheck. "So what's going on?"

"There's a problem," Ylva says. Points at the second chair in front of her desk, so I drop down. Tempted to prop my feet up on her desk, but I've learned the hard way to never, ever touch the boss's desk. "One of the Soldiers is out."

"Out? What kind of out?" I slouch down. "Are we talking 'out of the city for a few days until the cops stop looking for him' out? 'Missing and you haven't bothered to track him' out? 'Can't help in this project anymore' out? 'We found his head two rooms away from his body' out? Give me something to work with."

"Mostly the latter," Ylva says, and I recognize the way she's rearranging all the pens on her desk as she speaks. That's one annoyed Djinn in front of me. Note to self: try not to taunt the boss this week. She gets so huffy when one of her attuned goes splat. "While the body is in one piece, it looks to be the work of a large knife. Or sword."

Swords? Swords are _such_ a bad sign. "So who bit it? Edward or Carlos?"

"Edward." Her pens are still shifting on the desk. It's a distraction, so I look elsewhere. I can stare at the new kid for a while. Someone went so overboard on the pretty, I'm surprised Holly isn't a fan. Hard to tell when we're sitting, but probably taller than my vessel. Green eyes too green, doesn't anyone think about the 'distinctive features' issue when handing out vessels? "I found him in his back yard this morning. I _attempted_ to call you about this, but hit your voice mail."

So my phone finally keeled over from the stress of being too near me. "A pity about Edward, he was the smarter of the two, but these things happen and we all move on. Who's replacing him? All we need is someone with Corporeal Shields and more smarts than your average chihuahua."

"We don't have a replacement yet," Ylva says.

The chair clatters to the floor when I stand. "You don't have a replacement? We've gotten this far and you don't have _anyone_ for backup?" Double the explosives means more work in placing them inconspicuously; there's no way one human can do this in the time limit allowed. "We have ten days! What, are you going to try to teach a human the Song in _ten days_? Assuming we can get someone with enough Forces to make it stick, and..." I cannot afford to make her window shatter, must remember that my paycheck has already shrunk enough of late, I will _not_ waste more of it on another expensive repair. The new kid, on the other hand--

"You are /not/ allowed to kill him," Ylva says.

"...could I just kill him a little?"

"What did I do?" protests the kid.

"Not even a little," says the boss, so I settle for pacing. The office is big enough that I can do this without running into anyone, though it's going to play hell on the carpet if I continue. "Leo, meet Solveig. Role name Saul. He's been sent to assist us."

"And if he's not human, a lot of help he's going to be for avoiding disturbance. Impudite?"

"Habbalite," says the new kid, glaring up at me like I should care. Isn't that a perfect way to top of the morning: an emotion-twisting little demon convinced he's an angel. They couldn't have sent us a Balseraph? I like Balseraphs. As insane as the Habbalah, but in a consistent manner. Arrogant as all hell, but at least they don't think they're _holier_ than the rest of us. "And you?"

"What's he supposed to do that we can't already?" I don't like the implication that we're not handling this job on our own. Ylva deals with the logistics, I do the planning, and we're set on the demonic front. The more demons you stick in a room, the greater chance someone's going to end up dead. It's not going to be me. 

"Leo's a Calabite," Ylva says, ignoring my question. Djinn are experts at ignoring things they don't want to deal with. "And your senior here, so consider his word final when working alongside him."

"Wait, wait, this kid is going to be working _with_ me?"

"Saul's Role is relatively weak. He doesn't have a place to stay yet. He'll be rooming with you meanwhile." She doesn't have to sound so smug about it. "He can also assist you in your work."

"Assist me how?" The only obvious use I can see for a newbie Habbalite is to send him into a building with the explosives strapped to him. That'd be holy enough for him, right? Though not so good on the whole disturbance issue.

"We need to find a new Soldier, and quickly. Congratulations. It's now your responsibility."

"Ten days to find another aware human, and make sure they get that Song down? Are you insane? It took you how long to find the two you have? Oh, let me correct myself, the two you _had_ , seeing as one's now skewered by some unknown assailant. Can't we just borrow a human from someone else?"

"Impractical, though I'll be looking into it." Ylva finally stops playing with those pens. "Your point about Edward's demise is valid. Investigate who was responsible for that, and how we might need to adjust our plans accordingly, as time allows. Consider it your second priority."

Some day, I'm going to kill her. For now, I say, "Got it. Anything else you wanted me to do in my copious free time? Find you a ten-Force human, discover a cure for male pattern baldness, set Notre Dame on fire?"

"No other tasks," Ylva says. "However. We are attempting to keep a low profile here. Disturbance-causing events such as last night are not acceptable at this stage."

No way Ylva could have heard that, which means Erica decided to rat me out. This day just keeps getting better. "He was asking for it."

"Was he."

"Haven't you read Freud? When someone says yes, they mean yes. When they say no, they mean yes. A parking job like his was a desperate cry for help, sent out to an uncaring world. Fortunately, I was able to provide assistance."

"You will keep quiet," my boss says. "Or your lack of cooperation will be reported."

"Fine, I'll make sure to just resonate them to death next time. Is that all?"

"You may wish to begin working on a plan for your new responsibilities," Ylva says, and waves the two of us out. "Answer any relevant questions Solveig might have."

The new kid trails me back to my office, slips inside before I can close the door on him. "Nice place," he says, lips curling. "Love what you've done with the decor."

I collapse into my chair, where I can put my feet up on my own desk if I want to. "First time on Earth?"

"Maybe." Which, much like yes and no, means yes. "What's it to you?"

"Seven Forces?"

"Eight!"

"Yeah. Look, kid, far be it from me to criticize someone who's so good with coworkers, but did anyone ever tell you it's a bad idea to taunt a Calabite?"

"The boss told you not to hurt me," the Habbalite says. Looks for a chair, discovers I don't have any but the one I'm sitting in, and settles for folding his arms and leaning against the wall. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"You're hard of hearing? She didn't say not to hurt you, she said not to kill you." Let's see what this snippy little demon is made of. I look at him, and work out all the ways that his vessel is nothing more than that, a big complicated flesh-suit to hold him inside. Except maybe when it breaks around the edges.

He jerks, eyes going wide. Much better. Coughs, and now there's blood on his lips. "You bastard--"

"Like I didn't warn you? Now shut up and listen before I get serious. Maybe now you'll pay attention." I drop my feet back down, and unroll a blueprint, drop weights on the corners to keep it spread. "Come take a look at this."

Saul moves in slowly, like he's worried that I'm about to hit him again. Tempting, but impractical. "So what's this?"

"Did they tell you anything about our project?"

"Not really." He leans over the desk to stare at the blueprints, and I can tell he doesn't know how to read them properly. "What's happening in ten days?"

"This building here? Is going down. It's already condemned, so that's giving us leeway in setting things up."

"So what's so exciting and important about blowing up an empty building?" I think all new demons straight out of Hell are equipped with that whiny undertone to their voices. I was before my first boss taught me how to shut up.

"Did I say empty? No, I didn't. I said condemned." I grin at him. "It's still being used. The top floor's one big room, no walls, lots of windows. Apparently that's ideal for all the rebel monkeys to throw parties in. Like breaking and entering makes it that much more fun. Ten days from now, they're throwing one last fling before the scheduled demolition date. The place should be packed."

I remember when my eyes used to light up like that. I miss the early enthusiasm, sometimes. Made the job a lot more tolerable. "So it all goes up in flames?"

"Nothing that simple. First it comes down, _then_ it goes up in flames. Now, if we play this right, by the time the collapsing and the burning is done, no one's going to be able to tell it wasn't entirely natural. This place was condemned for a reason, and they'll be putting a lot of weight on the top floor. Bad wiring, packed rooms, nothing up to code... Tragedy, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes." He's forgotten to be annoyed at me. Maybe I can work with this kid after all. "So what's the catch?"

"Two of them. Catch number one: we're short a Soldier. We can't place the explosives ourselves; you can imagine the disturbance coming out of that much destruction if we get closely involved."

"Do both of the people who set it up need to be Soldiers? What do they need Corporeal Shields for?"

"For the trigger, because we want someone on the scene to set things off. A remote trigger has other risks."

Saul nods slowly, staring at the blueprints. "So what if we got a bunch of humans to place everything, and then only left one in to do the trigger? You still have one who can do that, right?"

"Oh, sure, we can do that. But what human do you intend to trust to do all this properly, get out of there safely, and then not cause more problems for us? Our last Soldier doesn't have the right Song." Though I'm starting to get an idea. "We're going to need someone smart, efficient, and easily intimidated. Or fanatically loyal, and that's hard to manage in ten days. Unless you think you can get that?"

"I can," he says. Smiles to himself. "Fanaticism is easy. Take something they already believe, show them how to believe in it more... Ten days, and they'll be happy to give their life up for the cause."

"Great. Then we can take care of that catch. Now we come back to priority number two: whoever did in Edward. We're lucky, it's a personal enemy of his. We're unlucky, it's an angel who realized Edward was a wicked, wicked man. We're really unlucky, it's an angel who's found out Edward was Hellsworn, and will be looking for us. So we probably want to look into that, right?"

"Right. So, what was the second catch?"

"Second catch is that the boss wants to double the amount of explosives we're using. Which exponentially increases the chances of this plan being noticed as more than a dreadful series of coincidences. But you don't argue with the boss once she's made up her mind, so we're going to work around that."

"How?"

I tilt my chair back, hook one foot beneath my desk to keep me from falling backwards. "We're recruiting a new human for all this, right? So while you're helping him work his fanatical way towards our goals, we make sure that if anyone investigates, the trail leads back to him, and him alone. It'll require a bit of prep work, but we can manage that."

"Sounds like fun."

"No, it's a pain in the ass and more work than I anticipated. But if you want to have fun with it, go ahead. Just don't get so involved in having your giggles that you forget the goal, understood?" I unwrap another piece of candy from my pocket. Cinnamon. The red candies are always the best.

"Yeah, I get it." He takes his hands off my desk, goes back to the wall-leaning. Did some Impudite tell him he would look cool if he did that? It makes him look like a spoiled kid. "You don't look much like a Calabite."

"Because wearing a vessel that screams 'Hi, I'm violent, please smite me' to wandering angels is such a good idea?" I need to introduce him to Erica. I'd love to see her throw him into a wall the first time he tries something.

"You're _short_. And your hair--"

"Look, I like keeping my hair out of my eyes when I'm working, this vessel is exactly one inch under average for human males in this country, and are you _trying_ to get yourself killed? Because I bet if I apologized nicely enough Ylva would just shrug and have them send me another Habbie."

"Habbalite," he snaps.

"Whatever. You see me going on about everything that's wrong with your vessel? No? Then don't criticize mine. I don't get a second look from most people, and that's the way I like it."

He shuts up for long enough that I can start working on redoing the wiring scheme. If I don't have someone with Shields babysitting it, that means simplifying so that a monkey with a big red button can make sure it all goes off. We're cutting this awfully close, and now I need to rely on this kid to get us a patsy willing to die for the cause. Then there's the matter of twice as much explosive... I'm getting a nasty feeling about this. 

"So what do I do now?"

Oh, right. He's still standing around. "I don't know. Go recruit a human. Decorate your office. Study French. Whatever you feel like. I'm busy."

"I don't have an office yet."

"Sounds like one was just vacated. Go take Edward's."

"And do what?"

"If you're going to need explicit instructions for your entire stay on Earth, Saul, you're not going to last long. _Think_ of something."

"Why are you calling me that? There's no one else listening."

My pencil snaps between my fingers. "Because, you moron, that's your Role's name, and we're on Earth. You want me to accidentally call you by the wrong name in front of someone who'd notice? No? Then get used to that name, you'll be hearing it a lot."

"So is Leo your Role name, or your real one?"

"Both. You have to love the simplicity of it." I sharpen the broken half-pencil back into something useful. "Everyone in the office is on a first-name basis. Isn't that cheery?"

"What's your Discord?"

I just _sharpened_ that pencil, and now it's in pieces again. The bit that's still attached to an eraser is far too small to write with. "And why should I tell you?"

"Because we're working together, right? So I should know." He's been saving a nasty little smirk for this occasion, I just know it. The expression is rehearsed. "Because if you're filled with bloodlust, or unusually merciful, or afraid of heights, or the type to run away from fights... Lets me plan ahead."

"None of your business."

"I can tell it's not any of the really visible sorts. So what is it? The boss did tell you to answer my relevant questions, and this is relevant."

The Habbalite jumps when the wall next to him sheds a layer of plaster. That's going to cost me, but it was worth it. "If you're planning on getting into any fights in celestial form, you're on your own there."

It takes him a moment to follow. "You're Bound?" Saul shudders. "That's...disgusting."

"Like I got to pick." I can think of a lot of Discords I'd rather have than this one. Angry, for example. An angry Calabite is a Calabite whose colleagues don't harass him. "Please tell me they gave you at least a basic education before sending you here."

"I did _excellently_ in all of my--"

"Good. Then you know the basics, and I won't have to waste my time explaining them." I know there are a few things they don't cover in classes that I found out the hard way, but why should I go to the trouble of giving him good advice he won't appreciate? And somehow, no one ever appreciates "Don't underestimate Mercurians" until they've witnessed this principle in action. I wish I had a video of that incident. It would make great blackmail material on the Balseraph in question, especially since the smiting followed a statement of "If you're so worried, I'll take care of the fluffwing myself."

"So when do we get started?" There's that annoying whine again. I'll have to see what I can do about beating it out of him, for the benefit of anyone who has to work with him later. I'm considerate that way, and a long-term planner.

"We'll take an early lunch. You get to meet potential stooges, and we both start looking into who did in the boss's monkey." And I can watch how this kid handles himself in the real world. "Now go away and leave me to my work before I start interpreting Ylva's orders creatively. Got it?"

He's smart enough to leave. That's something.


	2. In Which I Get a Good Meal, and Meet the Two Kinds of People Who Make Up This World: the Kind Who Try to Kill Me, and the Kind Who Don't.

Of course they gave the kid a car. It takes a bit of arm-twisting (mostly metaphorical) to get the keys out of him, and then I'm driving. "So we're looking for two things. Human who'll do what we want, and someone who's gone stabby on the boss's Soldier. Where would you look first for each of these?"

"For the human..." Saul can tell this is a test, because I'm taking no pains to hide it. "Churches. Middle to lower class neighborhoods. Find someone with no close family, no real friends, who doesn't hang around after the services but shows up anyway. Make friends with him. Talk about what God wants him to do. It'd be easier with more time, but I can do it in ten days." He waves his cigarette around when he talks. Bad habit.

"Ten days is a week from Saturday. It's Wednesday now. If you wait until Sunday to start, that gives you less than a week to work. Try again."

Saul nods earnestly, like he's giving this problem _serious_ thought. If he can't work it out soon, I'll give him an answer, but what he comes up with will tell me how he thinks. "Bars," he concludes. "Look for someone who's sitting alone, who isn't even trying to hook up. Preferably a heavy drinker. No wedding ring."

"Not a bad choice. So, is your Role going to be much of a drinker?"

"Only socially." He gives me a sidelong glance. "And you?"

"You know of anything better to do on evenings at home?"

"Sure. I intend to find myself a girlfriend in the next few weeks. It's a good cover for the Role, and a way to keep myself entertained. But I suppose that wouldn't be an option for you, would it?"

He yelps when I hit him. Low pain tolerance, or just easily startled? I didn't even hit him very hard. "What did I tell you about antagonizing Calabim?"

"It was just an observation--"

"That you can keep to yourself. You know how I can tell this is your first Earth assignment? Because that's the only explanation for why you act like this and aren't in Trauma. Give some thought to the consequences before you start talking, and you'll live longer." I pull into the parking lot, and kill the engine. "That's one half taken care of. We can talk about the other half over lunch." Still early enough that the parking lot is nearly empty, and we'll be able to get a table with no wait.

"Wait, I thought we were just...you know. Saying we were getting lunch, while going out and doing important things." He trails along behind me, then runs back to lock the car once he realizes I didn't. "What's the point?"

"The point, my idiot friend, is that we both have Roles to maintain. Humans need to eat. Therefore, lunch." The air conditioning inside can't keep up with the heat outside; it must be 85 in here. "Besides, this is a good place to talk. They have booths with backings that'd stop the sound of an axe murder, and waitresses who leave you alone when you tell them to." I wave two fingers at the host, and he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. Looks like my usual booth is free.

"This place looks like shit," Saul mutters, but he does follow along. Good puppy. "Do they ever sweep this floor?"

"Of course it looks like shit. Keeps the posers away. No one comes here because it's trendy or sexy. They come here for the food."

My usual booth is in a back corner that provides an excellent view of anyone approaching. I make him sit across the table from me, in the seat where you can't see anything but the opposite wall, and Saul has enough sense to be uncomfortable there. "This place can't possibly be up to code," he says.

"The owner sleeps with the health inspector." The waitress who flounces over is one of the newer hires, but she's already acquired the habitual sneer of anyone who works in this place. "Same as always, and get him the same thing." She jots down a note, and stalks away. "That's authentic sullenness, there. You can't pay for atmosphere like this."

"Who would want to?" The Habbalite rubs grime off the glass tabletop with one thumb, and tries to make out the menu between glass and tablecloth. "How do you know about the owner?"

"I've been in this city for three years, Saul. It's my job to know what's going on in my favorite haunts. The more I know, the more likely I'll notice if something changes. Any change is a sign of danger. Look up, tell me what you see."

He wrinkles his nose, but looks up. "I see the ceiling. So what?"

"No, Saul. What you see is a well-concealed brand-new sprinkler system. This place may be dirty, dark, and with cluttered exits, but it has a damn good system for putting out fires. Does that strike you as odd? A little out of place?"

"Yeah, I guess," he says. "So what made the owner decide to put it in?"

"Good question. And that's the sort of change I mean. Keep your eyes open."

He nods, and sits quietly while we wait for the food to arrive.

There's a simple answer for the brand new sprinkler system. One little fire in the right place can do wonders for motivating change, and the owner's still grateful to me for "discovering" the fire, calling her in discreetly, and putting it out. If all the world's going to go up in flames eventually, I'd at least like my favorite restaurant to be the last place to go.

The waitress drops off our food, and disappears again; she won't be back until it's time to pay. "So," I say, around a mouthful of ribs, "problem number two. How would you approach that?"

He pokes gingerly at his ribs, like they might bite him first. "It depends on who we're looking for."

"So assume angels. You know, the kind who actually work for Heaven. If it's humans, we don't care. They're not threat individually, and it sure wasn't the police who stabbed Edward. Where do you go looking for angels?"

"...churches?"

Ylva's lucky I'm such a responsible, obedient Servitor. "No, you idiot, you stay out of their way, cover your tracks, and make sure they never see you. Angel-hunting is a game for people who've been assigned to it, and last I checked, that's neither you nor I. Which means the job is...?"

"...figuring out who did it, and how to cover up the connections?"

"Yeah. Why do you think we have Holly up in front to greet people? Because she's such a clueless innocent there's nothing for an angel to catch if they read her." 

"So we're going to go investigate the death?"

"No, _you're_ going to go investigate. I'm going to head back to the office after lunch and spend the the day redoing everything based on the boss's whim. If you screw up completely, let me know and I'll look into it, but I have better things to do with my time than stare at bloody carpet."

"I thought we were supposed to be working together," he says tightly.

"We're working on this problem together. I'm delegating it to you, and you're going to prove that you can actually handle it. It's a beautiful moment of teamwork. Are you going to eat those?"

"No," he says. Catches my expression. "...I mean, yeah, in a minute."

"Good kid. You might live long enough to see a real live angel yourself."

"Have you?"

"Oh, sure. A few times. Briefly, mind. It's not like you sit around and chat."

"Kill any?" 

I have to wonder what's going on inside the kid's head, that he's not even doing the usual Habbalite protest about how his Band--excuse me, /Choir/--is the only real set of angels out there. Acts more Impudite than Habbalite, I still say.

I could lie, but there wouldn't be much point to it. "No, and it's not a profession I intend to take up, either. Stick to dealing with humans. You'll live longer."

He's thinking I'm a coward. I call it having a healthy sense of self-preservation. The first time he finds himself bleeding and dissonant from trying to be too clever at an angel, he'll learn better.

After lunch, I let Saul whine his way into keeping the car while I head back to the office on foot. Walking lets me work out finicky details of how to arrange things in my head, then see how it comes out on paper. It's a hot enough day that there's hardly anyone on the sidewalks to annoy me, so following Ylva's order about disturbance should be easy.

Halfway to the office, I reach a crosswalk behind a group that screams dysfunctional family. Mom and Dad in business dress too hot for the weather, glaring at each other, while their skinny teenage daughter wanders around them in circles. Either divorced or near to it by the ice-cold way they speak with each other. They shut up when I approach, and the teenager gives me a funny look. Sorry to break into your personal drama, kid. But this street's too busy at noon for me to jaywalk and get out of the way.

At the walk signal, I pick up the pace to get away from that hotbed of domestic tranquility. Need to reshape the charges to account for the additional force, can't just wedge more explosives on and expect the same results. I ought to dig up blueprints for the buildings on either side, see how much trouble we're in if this stuff blows through. I don't want to rely on Saul's next pet being the one blamed, not with all the conspiracy nuts around. Got to make sure to remind him about not being seen near the guy more than once; Ylva will have his head if he brings trouble down on the office. Not that this wouldn't be entertaining.

Two blocks later, I take a turn and catch sight of that same family, half a block behind me. Which probably isn't anything, but I'm heading into a business district, not commercial. Might be that one of them works here, but I'm not in the mood for taking chances. Left turn here instead of a right turn, cut down this back alleyway, take a right, walk down this street all nonchalant like, back down an alley--

Oh, this isn't going to be pretty. The three of them walk towards me from the other end. As if business-class families make sense in a dumpster-filled alley.

I could turn and run, but that's unlikely to end well with three to one odds and broad daylight. So I only offer up a confused look, stop, and wait for them. "Should I know you?"

"You're Discordant," says the teenager, and if this is the Game I'm screwed, though why they'd care about a Calabite with Discord I don't know. If this is Judgment, I'm not screwed, I'm dead. "How long have you been that way?"

"Years. What does it matter?"

"What does your Superior think of that?"

"That's who gave it to me." My Prince made me as I am, and it's too late to quibble over the details.

The tall man's mouth twitches, and Balseraph or Seraph I can't work out, but I'm telling as close as I can to the truth, just to be on the safe side. The three of them spread out around me until my back's to the wall. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Leo." He frowns at that. So maybe they're looking for someone in particular, and they'll pass me by once I'm clearly not that person. I can't imagine they'd be looking for me personally. If the Host was out to get me like that, they would caught me years ago. "Is there a problem?" Polite, I can be _very_ polite when the situation calls for it, and this situation is screaming its head off for civility.

"Who do you serve?"

"Fire." Please let this not be Judgment, please, please, please... The woman grimaces, which doesn't give me great hope. 

"Possibly useful," says the teenager. "Or maybe not." Her smile is as toothy as the ones I give in my worse moods. "How cooperative do you intend to be?"

"...very."

"Truth," says the man, quietly, and I am dead, I am _so_ dead they're not even going to find pieces of me to put back together. I wish I'd kept Saul around, I could throw him at the angels and make a run for it. "We are in search of another Servitor of Fire, a Cherub. Her name is Esh-ban. Have you seen her here recently?"

"No. I don't even know what she looks like." I will allow myself a glimmer of hope by telling the truth. No doubt this glimmer will be squashed, but it's nice to dream, right?

"If you encounter her, you will report this to us," says the woman--Cherub?--and I nod earnestly. Sure thing! If I run into any Gabrielite that _Heaven_ wants back, I'm happy to turn her over to Judgment. Let them take care of their own messes. I'm not sure _how_ I would go about doing that, but I will find a way if it means I get out of this encounter alive.

Maybe I'm being a little too cooperative. The Seraph's eyes narrow at me. "You don't have a problem with this?"

"Well. It's not like my Superior is fond of yours," I say, which is true. Belial and Dominic, not best of friends. "But I don't know the full story, I have my own job to take care of, and I'd as soon stay out of your way while you do yours."

The woman taking notes pauses. "What's your Choir?"

...I was hoping they wouldn't ask that. This would be much funnier if Saul were answering the questions, and I were watching from a safe distance. I'd love to see the reaction when he answered "Habbalite." This, I'm not looking forward to. "I don't have a Choir. I'm not an angel."

Three angels are now closer to me than I'm comfortable with. Chances of my blasting through the wall behind me before anyone can stab me: too low to bother trying. "And what are you, demon?" asks the teenager.

"Calabite," I say. "But if it helps any, I would _love_ to let you know if I run across any Servitors of Gabriel. Give me a number and I'll call it right in." I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

"I'll take care of it," says the Cherub, reaching inside her coat. Probably not for a spare pen.

"Wait." That's the teenager, whatever her Choir might be. "This could still be useful."

"How so?" The Cherub rests her free hand on my throat. I'm in no position to object.

"He's bound to his vessel. He won't be going anywhere fast. Another set of eyes that the Gabrielite won't expect could be useful. Especially if she seeks Servitors of Belial, as her type often do. And afterwards... we can deal with him as seems appropriate."

"This would be easier for all involved if you kept a few Lilim around to Geas people into agreeing to do something, instead of asking if they'll follow through, working out the truth of that, and then hoping they don't change their minds." The three of them look at me. "...and I'm shutting up now." That bit where I was saying you don't stand around and chat with angels? I should remember that. Right around now.

"What will you promise to do, in exchange for a temporary reprieve?" the Seraph asks me, nose in the air like I smell, and I don't. I'm grubby-looking, but I bathe regularly. Arrogant bastards, Seraphim and Balseraphs alike, but in a cute way. It's something about the six eyes in celestial form. They can look down on you three times over!

What will satisfy them, while not counting as a lie? Tricky, but I'm up for the challenge. The more harmless and helpless I seem, the more likely they are to let me walk away. So let's go overboard. "Spend time looking for this Gabrielite you want, notify you as quickly as I'm able without compromising myself once I find her, not tell anyone of this agreement except my Superior or upon inquisition from the Game, and I really don't think either is going to be asking. Not leave this city, barring direct orders otherwise."

"Truth," says the Seraph, "or as near to it as he's likely to come. Acceptable for the moment." He fixes me with a gaze that's probably supposed to be intimidating, but the relief at having postponed death a while longer is enough I'm giddy, and I can't take it seriously. I do manage to not start giggling. It would come across wrong. "Do you repent of your sins and throw yourself on the mercy of the Host?"

"...could I get back to you on that one?"

"I intend to ask again later," says the Seraph. "Once you've had more time to consider the consequences of the reply you choose." He reaches inside his jacket, but it's only to get an index card and write out a phone number. "Call us if you encounter the Servitor of Fire known as Esh-ban."

I memorize the number before stuffing the card into a pocket; it might be illegible next time I see it. "So what am I looking for? Do you know what her vessel looks like, her Role's name, favorite place to eat, if she likes dancing in the rain and long walks on the beach?"

"No," says the Seraph, and his lips press thin. Must annoy them if they don't have that much to work on. "Use your...ingenuity. If you have any. What's your address?"

"517 Park Street, apartment 306." And what am I going to do if they show up while I have Saul the idiot Habbalite rooming with me? Pretend they work for the Game and see if they play along. Or maybe they'll kill him and get him out of my hair. They can take out my boss while they're at it, and leave me to get my job done in peace and quiet. "So what's the deal, anyway? Is she one of your Renegades?"

"Whether or not she's Outcast isn't your business," says the teenager. "But you might not want to approach her. Immolating you is a Rite, for her."

"So I've heard." I welcome the mad Gabrielite to try that one; I'm not afraid of fire.

They turn and walk away, leaving me be as if I'm not worth their time. Maybe I'm not. Of course, I don't know if that's the "don't bother with a wimpy demon like that when we have dreadfully important Heavenly matters to attend to" kind of not worth their time, or the "Make a note to have a squad of Malakim sent in to clean this up when we're done" kind. And I won't know which until I find out the hard way.

I hope they're out of here ten days from now.

I leave several ragged holes in the walls around me, nothing deep enough to be seen from the other side. Helps me calm down. 

Right.

I need to work out the situation with the explosives, make sure Saul finds another human for us to use, cover the explosion with a paper trail that leads anywhere but to us, put token effort into tracking down some Cherub of Fire, maintain my Role, and somehow not let any of this collide with anything else.

Oh, and convince Ylva I'm actually working on finding out who stabbed her pet Soldier. (First guess: Cherub of Fire. Edward was not a model of compassion and virtue, even by my standards.)

Holly smiles at me when I walk in, fanning vigorously with a Xerox catalog. "I ought to bring in a desk fan," she says, and lowers her voice in a conspiratorial manner, "but the boss said it would look, you know, 'unprofessional'."

"The boss can be a harsh one," I say, and snag another handful of candy. "Any other new hires while I was out? Maybe now we're moving to a new building, and no one thought to tell me? It was probably in a memo."

"Well, Edward's out sick today," she says, counting on her fingers. "Carlos said he's _very_ busy and doesn't want to be disturbed. The boss says that from now on, everyone has to use the number two pencils, because buying two different types of pencils based on preferences in the office is wasteful."

"You're killing me, Holly, you really are." 

"Where's the new hire? I thought he went to lunch with you."

"Sent him off to do some homework. Check out other buildings in the area, that sort of thing. He ought to get a good appreciation for this city before he tries to work on projects." I drop the toffees back in her dish and pick out more of the red candies. "That's it?"

"Oh! And there's a visitor waiting for you, in your office. Said you were expecting him."

"...and?"

"And?"

"Name? Business? General description? Holly, who did you let into my office?"

"But you're expecting him," she repeats, eyes widening, even though my tone's level. "You told me so this morning. He reminded me."

"...right. Of course! How could I forget?" I flash a grin at her. "Sorry. I don't know where my head has been today."

"Oh, Leo, you're such a kidder."

"You bet, babe." I hurry down the hallway to my office door, and take a deep breath. I have to walk in eventually.

Open the door. Close it quickly. "Regan?"

He's taller than he used to be. And male in this vessel, which is new. Thin, sharply dressed, aristocratic sneer, and a knife in hand. "You bastard," he hisses, and slams me up against the wall. Knife's point at my throat. "Do you have any reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?"

"To begin with," I say, and try not to let my throat move much because that knife is _sharp_ , "how about for old time's sake? And, hey, nice to see you're finally out of Trauma! I was wondering when you'd get out."

"I have been out of Trauma for three years," he says, and pricks out a drop of blood with his knife. "It took me this long to work myself back into the good graces of my Prince. Thanks to the way you concluded our last partnership."

"Hey, I'm sorry about that, but it was you or me, and if I got hurt... I would have become dissonant, Regan. You wouldn't want me to violate the nature of my Prince's Word and the rules he laid down for me, just to help out a friend, would you?"

Regan rolls his eyes, and makes the knife disappear back into his jacket. Why does everyone but me have hidden weaponry? "You could justify selling your boss to the angels if pressed, couldn't you?"

"She's regulating which _pencils_ I get. Would you blame me?"

"No, I suppose not." Regan drops down into my chair, leaving me standing around in my own office wiping blood from my throat. Typical of our meetings. "How's it going?"

"Well enough," I say. The Balseraph's never been very good at telling when someone is lying. "Places to destroy, people to kill... You know how it goes."

"Rough life." He picks through the papers on my desk. It'll take some mental realignment to get used to Regan in a male vessel. I liked her last vessel, especially that scar right beneath one eye. Gave it character. The new vessel's too tidy and precise, like it hasn't been lived in. "So you're an architect now?"

"That's the Role. What are you up to these days?" I wasn't really expecting to see her--him--English has to come up with a pronoun for celestial lack-of-gender--any time soon. Lucky for me that Regan's become less annoyed at me than I feared. She can carry a serious grudge.

"Official work. It happens to take me through the city, so here I am. Only for a few weeks. I'd go into details, but you're not cleared for that."

"Right. Going to try to keep this vessel for longer than the last one?" His expression is pure venom. Appropriate. "I quote, 'A Mercurian? Please. I'll take care of him myself.' I'm not taking any blame for that one."

"You could have assisted me."

"I could have assisted you in running away, but your Prince doesn't like that, does he? I wasn't about to stand around and wait for the rest of the Host to show up."

Regan waves this all away. "No matter. Would you be willing to help me with a few details of my current assignment? Nothing too dangerous, if you're worried about _that_. But you know the area, and that would prove useful."

"Maybe, if it won't take long. I'm in a deadline crunch right now." A few of these deadlines are going to crunch my head right off if I'm not careful. I wonder if being killed by a triad is worse than making my boss truly angry. I might be finding out shortly.

"If you're interested, stop by." He scrawls out an address on the corner of...oh, hey, so that's where that memo got to. "If you're not interested, don't. As simple as that." Regan leaves my chair, gives me a gesture halfway between a wave and a salute. "Try not to get killed, Leo."

I pull my favorite Balseraph in for a quick kiss on the way out the door, and Regan's in a very benevolent mood, because he doesn't push me away. Always said she liked the taste of my entropy buzz, and maybe that hasn't changed. "Be careful. I'm told there might be angels in the city."

"I'm always careful." He believes that, doesn't he? As good at lying to himself as to anyone else. "But I will keep the warning in mind."

That's all the warning I can give without doing what I promised the triad I wouldn't. The better I am at keeping my promises, the better chance I have of convincing them not to kill me--or at least not to kill me very _hard_ \--when they show up to collect. Wave him out, and it's back to the blueprints for me. Time to figure out how to compensate for the boss's stupidity. Again.


	3. In Which My Apartment Contains Too Many People

Nine in the evening, and even Ylva will admit Role maintenance requires I go home. There's a pattern to how the office empties: Holly at five, ordinary mortals at six, Soldiers at seven, me at nine, and then Ylva slumps home at ten. What responsible workers we are.

I have a spot in the parking garage below my apartment, but the gate remote stopped working around the same time as my car. Which means finding parking takes us four blocks out of the way, and of course the baby Habbie whines about this the whole walk back.

I shove my door open. "Home, sweet home. You'll want to move out soon. I'd recommend tomorrow. Take a look at some apartment over lunch, talk them into renting to you immediately."

"How do you live in this mess?" Saul's nose wrinkles up as he steps inside, which is unfair. The living room may be a disaster area, but it doesn't smell.

I slam the door behind him. "What did you expect? Now sit down and shut up."

He drops to the couch promptly, which is something. Don't know if he's learning or just carrying residual terror from whoever he worked for last. "What do we do now?"

"Watch television," I say, and collapse on the other end of the couch. With enough digging, I unearth a notebook from the piles. The preliminary rewiring is good, but I'll need to redesign all these charges. That's an excuse to leave the office over the weekend, field-test a few of these somewhere private. I'm going to need to pick up another cheap calculator--

"But shouldn't I be working?"

Another plate on the table goes bang, and sooner or later Saul's going to learn to stop jumping when I do that. No one can work for Fire and not be used to Calabim. "You want to work 24/7, go for it. I'll place bets on how long it takes you before you keel over. Not needing sleep doesn't mean your mind doesn't need an occasional break, and Role-maintenance means even if you don't need that break, you learn to fake it. But if you're feeling irresponsible, go out and punish people, or whatever your type does for fun." I know what some other Habbalah does for fun, and if he tries _that_ he's going to end up with his own hand embedded in his chest.

"I only punish people who deserve it," he says, and he doesn't seem to be joking. "It's not like I go out and hurt people on a whim. It's a serious responsibility."

"So how do you tell who deserves it?" And what variation on standard Habbalite insanity am I going to have to put up with?

"In Hell, it's easy. Everyone there deserves it. The souls of the damned, and the demons. Here on Earth... It's complicated." He pokes at the remote, then tosses it away onto the floor. Well. Onto a heap of clothing on the floor. I haven't seen the carpet in here in months. "Why do you care? You don't believe me. You think I'm a demon, just because of where I came from."

"Let me see." I count off the points on my fingers, because it's more likely to annoy him. "You came from some little pile of Forces along with all the other demons in the area. Grew up in Hell. Turned into a Habbalite alongside all those other demonlings who were turning into, you know, demons. You work for a Demon Prince, and your boss is a Djinn. But, hey, if you say you're an angel, who am I to argue with you?"

"You wouldn't understand." He picks at one of the holes in the couch's upholstery until he catches my glare. Bad enough that all my furniture falls apart just for being around me, without him making it worse. "God called to me in the midst of Hell. To do His work down there, where it's most difficult. To punish the sinners who turned away from Him, and purge weakness from those who might still serve."

"And this matches up how, exactly, with working for a Demon Prince? Because last I checked, sin is one of our trademarks." About two more questions and I'll stop pressing, because much as I think I can bounce this kid's resonance off of me if he gets annoyed, I don't want to find out otherwise the hard way.

"You wouldn't understand," he repeats, and the way his eyes are slitting towards Djinnish annoyance tells me it's time to stop.

"Suit yourself." I stand up to whack the television on again. "Change the channel if you feel like it. Doesn't make a difference which show is on, they all come from the same place."

Working out explosives is nothing but algebra and geometry. Do the numbers, do the angles, and then throw another piece of paper on the floor and remember why I do field tests instead of relying on theory. Going to need to borrow Carlos to set up a few charges for me, or do it myself far out of the city where no one's going to hear. It's not easy to find cement and rebar standing around in the middle of nowhere to practice on, and trying to do this on trees never ends well. 

Tuning out the noise of the television is a matter of habit, and the kid knows enough to keep to his own side of the couch while staring into the idiot-box. My last boss used to say that everyone gives Nybbas his due, infernal or angelic or mortal, and she may be right.

Brisk rap on the door, and that's a new one, especially at this time of night. The occasional door-to-door salesman and fundraisers don't come around at midnight. I stand up with a horrible sinking feeling. If that's who I think it is, not answering the door isn't going to help. "Saul? Head back to the first door on the right, get in there, close the door, and don't come out unless I tell you otherwise, okay?"

"What's back there?"

"Storage room. Go." I open the door, and, yes, it _is_ my friendly neighborhood triad, come to say hello. "Do come in. Mind your footing."

When I look over my shoulder, the Habbie's gotten as far as the hallway, but he's staring. "Do I have to tell you twice? Because if I tell you three times, you're going to regret the third."

He scampers, disappears into the storage room, and I get shoved aside by the Cherub as she comes stalking in to make sure I haven't, I don't know, booby-trapped the laundry piles or something. "Who's that?"

"Roommate. He should know better than to try to listen." I let myself be circled by the third member of the triad (only an Ofanite could be this annoying) and wait for the Seraph's questions. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Truthful calls the shots. "If he asks, I'll tell him you were from the Game, and he won't ask more."

The Seraph grimaces, but doesn't object. "Have you investigated the matter set before you yet?"

"...no, I've been at work. Working." Let's not go into more detail on that, if we can possibly help it. I fold my arms, let him sneer down at me, and try to look nervous, which comes easily under the circumstances. "I intend to do what I said I would, but I don't know where to start. However, if anyone tries to set me on fire, I could ask for a name and see if that's your Renegade?" The Ofanite's opening cupboards and poking through my heaps of stuff, but this is not the time to object. Five minutes alone with her--but that's the problem with angels. They travel in packs, and they actually help each other.

Except for when they hunt each other. I see possibilities ahead. Most of them curtailed by the promises I've made, but not all, I was careful enough to not promise everything. Last I heard Judgment's mostly concerned with tracking down angels who are near to Falling, and if I can swipe a new-Fallen for my Prince... Covers a multitude of sins, that does. Assuming I live long enough to offer the present.

"Surely you have some idea of where to seek a Servitor of Gabriel," says the Cherub. "What would you do if you knew one was in your territory ordinarily?"

"Stay out of the way. She punishes the cruel, whatever. Isn't any of my business." This is not the answer I would give to my boss, if asked, but there's no point in lying to a Seraph. "If I absolutely had to go looking for a Cherub of Fire, first place I'd check would be near courthouses. Shelters for abused spouses. But you already know about those areas."

"Where else?" The Cherub reminds me of the Djinn who lectured me during my first classes in Hell. He'd give us scraps of information, bark out questions, smack us down for every wrong answer, until we worked out the answers for ourselves. Did an invaluable job of teaching half-witted young demons how to critically examine information, and I'd send him a nice card in thanks if I didn't think people would laugh at me for it.

"Depends on what she's trying to do. If you have any idea of why she's in this city, that'd be a great help." I can't work without information, but they don't give me any more answers. Just that solid glare from the Cherub, faint sneer from the Seraph, and a clatter as the Ofanite yanks open a cupboard in the kitchen. "If she's looking for my type, I'd just wait for her to show up. Let her do the investigative, and when she does appear it's in my territory. If she's doing her job, see the places mentioned beforehand." But 'doing her job' seems unlikely, with a triad after her. "If she's trying to hide from your people..."

I let them wait while I consider the possibilities. "Depends on what she's attuned to. Items, she'll have those with her. People, that's harder. I don't see her leaving her attuned while heading off somewhere else. Motels are too obvious, everyone checks motels, so she could use those cheap complexes over on the east side. You can get a furnished apartment by the month and no one asks who you are. Depending on how bright this Cherub is, and how well she knows the area."

"Then you have places to begin searching," says the Cherub. She taps me on the nose, and my vessel isn't _short_ , but it's starting to annoy me that everyone but the Ofanite is taller than I am. "Go. Search. Justify the reprieve we've granted you."

"I'll get on that first thing tomorrow morning. I can't head out at this time of night without raising questions." I don't think they're happy with that answer, but no one's insisting I do otherwise.

"Is this yours, or your roommate's?" 

The Ofanite's examining something I can't see through the Cherub in front of me, but Saul didn't bring anything in with him. "Mine."

"Huh. Wouldn't have thought you were the type..." She grins at me when she goes by, and has no trouble navigating the floor. "Try not to get yourself killed before you have a chance to call, okay? That would be inconvenient."

They leave without saying goodbye. No civility in this day and age, is there? I destroy three plates, make a mental note to buy a new stack, and go let Saul out of the closet.

"What did they want?" He's developing a sneer of his own. Some day, I'd like to go for twenty-four hours without having someone direct that expression at me. Not my fault I'm a grubby bastard who works for the Demon Prince of Fire. They don't hold Career Day in Sheol, unless you count "Serve Or Die" as a choice of careers.

"Do you usually ask the Game what they're up to when they stop by to say hello?" His eyes go wide. "Neither do I. So shut up and sit down."

He does both. I drop back onto the couch, and consider just how much I want to keep him alive. But if the triad can use an additional set of eyes, so I can I. "Fair warning, because I'm a nice enough guy to bother. There might be a Servitor of Gabriel in town, so keep your eyes open."

"I'm not afraid of them," he says. "They're weak."

"Didn't say to be afraid, I said to keep your eyes open. Weak doesn't mean not dangerous. A five-year-old human can shoot you in the back of the head, especially if there's a Kyriotate inside him." I pop another plate, and he's learned to ignore it. Good. "But, hey, you want to start poking at Gabrielites, go ahead. They're right up your alley. Angels who punish the wicked. Maybe you can go have a nice chat about punishment methods while disemboweling another one of the boss's Soldiers."

"I am not one of those _weak_ angels," Saul snarls, and I can see the way he's thinking. Let's derail that train of thought right now.

"Look, puppy," I say, once his head has hit the arm of the couch and my hands are around his throat, as I feel there's some of that move I should be passing on to other people with how often it's been used on me, "rule number one is you don't try to resonate your coworkers."

"I wasn't going to--"

"Rule number eight or so is don't tell lies unless you're good at it, but we haven't gotten there yet, have we? So shut up and _listen_ , before I have go buy a new couch on account of this one getting too bloody." He's probably strong enough to push me away, but he's not thinking about that right now. I take my hands off of his throat. "Rule number two is that you don't indulge your hobby unless you have a reason for it. Your resonance isn't so obvious as some, but with an angel in town you don't want to risk getting noticed."

"So what's rule number three?"

"Have a plan. _Always_ have a plan. Escape plan, contingency plan, what you're going to do tomorrow plan, whatever. I don't mean scheming your head off, that'll get you dissonant faster than you can say 'Oh, shit, that wasn't supposed to happen,' but have an idea of what you're going to do before doing it." He's at least pretending to listen, I'll settle for that. "I know from Habbies, and you'll screw with someone's head because you can. Don't. Think about the consequences. And if the consequences suck for someone else but not for you, think about the possibility of me _making_ the consequences suck for you if you start attracting attention, messing with my job, or annoying me."

I hit my end of the couch again; he sits up and brushes the wrinkles from his shirt. He should've been an Impudite. I don't mind Impudites. They don't usually try to Charm their coworkers. "So what's rule number four?" he asks. Clearly pissed off at me, but not trying to do anything about it yet.

"Let me know when you've mastered the first three, and I'll let you in on that secret." I'd like to head over to Regan's hotel room and ask what sort of job she's working on, but I can't leave the apartment tonight now that I've told the triad I won't. Tomorrow night, and I'll call myself fashionably late. The Balseraph always used to take me for granted; it'll do her good to wait a night and wonder if I'm coming by at all.

Of course I'll come to her. How many Balseraphs are going to agree to hang around with a guy like me?


	4. An Interlude, Which Does Not Include Me

"The Most Just is not going to like this," said Hakupha, once they had returned to their hotel room. "I still believe we should have killed him and been done with it."

"He's more useful alive, for the moment," said Ruhamah, and she grinned at the other members of her triad. "Besides, I think he has potential. When's the last time you met a Calabite who reads Jane Austen?"

"Reading matter is not an indication of character," murmured Dothan. "Do not let your own preferences confuse your judgment, Wheel."

"I'm not," said the Ofanite, and rolled her eyes. "Look, he's a Calabite of Fire, I agree he deserves smiting. But if we kill him, that's a dead body to take care of, possible warning to the one we're hunting, and most assuredly a warning to other demons in this town. If we keep a watch on where he goes and who he speaks with, we might be able to flush out a whole pack of demons."

"That's not our assignment," Hakupha said. "Or had you forgotten? We'll use him only long enough to reach who we need, and then kill him."

"Or call in someone else to take care of him," Ruhamah said, and she moved in thoughtful circles around the two of them. "Did you catch a look at his roommate? Hellsworn or a younger demon, definitely some sort of subordinate."

"A Habbalite, and a very young one," said the Seraph. His mouth twisted. "A few moments of deeper truth... I do not like to see two demons in one place. In my experience, they seldom congregate for innocuous reasons."

"I don't like to see demons at all," said the Cherub. "We could still kill them both--"

"You forget yourself, Guardian," said Ruhamah, and she stored away her smiles for later use. "You've acted too hastily before, and I mean to watch that you don't do so again."

Hakupha lowered her eyes, and nodded. "I will be...patient. Even if I would rather act now."

"Then that's all settled," said Ruhamah, back to her usual amenable ways. "Besides, if the Punisher is young, we can work on him from other directions. Killing him will teach him nothing but to avoid angels. On the other hand, if we put the right people around him..." She giggled. "Oh, this could be entertaining. Pity that I won't be the one to work on it, but each according to their abilities, right?"

"You would suggest that this Habbalite might be a candidate for redemption?" Dothan's voice skewed towards disgust.

"Redemption, distraction, coercion... There are so many places to go with it. And I know just the Soldier to suggest. She's _marvelously_ adept at throwing off demonic resonances, and I'm sure she can arrange for a demonstration of disturbance, or the lack thereof, to convince the demon she's an ordinary human and not to be feared."

"You enjoy the scheming far too much," said Hakupha.

"I prefer to think of it as planning ahead," said Ruhamah. "But I digress. Where to next, Most Holy?"

The Seraph flipped through his notebook, and frowned. "We still haven't determined if Esh-ban has her remaining attuned with her or not. While I hesitate to work on either assumption to the exclusion of the other, time escapes us."

"Where _does_ a Cherub go with a seven-year-old she can't prove is hers?" Ruhamah asked. "The Calabite will assume Esh-ban is alone, and investigate accordingly. We might as well focus our attentions on where she'd stow a mortal until we can acquire more information."

"Some place safe," said Hakupha, "but safety is relative. Possibly those apartments he mentioned? There wouldn't be as many strangers passing as in a hotel, and she'll need living facilities to care for the child."

"We're assuming that she's caring for the kid at all," Ruhamah said, and sighed. "I do hope she's only Outcast, and not Fallen. I hate dealing with those."

"If she hasn't attuned to anyone new, she has little chance to acquire more dissonance from their destruction," Hakupha said. "Whether she still seeks to follow the commands of her Archangel is another matter. She's been gone for two weeks. How can she be punishing the cruel while running from us?"

"I'm not sure it's us she's running from." Ruhamah pulled out the Gideon Bible from the drawer beside the bed, and began flipping through as she paced. "Maybe she's not running from anything. Maybe she's running _after_ someone."

"If so, she hasn't done a very good job of catching up with them, has she?" The Cherub folded her arms. "She would have known when her attuned were in danger, and yet she failed to protect them. If she couldn't even do that, how can she expect to catch those who did it? She should have called in help, not disappeared. She wouldn't be Outcast if she'd taken only those two notes of dissonance."

"Our information is sparse," said Dothan. "I had hoped we could report more success before the next visit from the Most Just, but this seems unlikely. We will simply deal with what is available to us, and continue to investigate."

"And when the Most Just appears, we'll have such interesting things to say." The Ofanite smiled at the looks her triad-mates gave her. "You will, of course, tell me if I overstep any of our orders or authority in this."

"I certainly shall," said the Seraph.


	5. In Which Information, Useful and Otherwise, Appears

I appreciate the chance to have a day out. I'm not sitting in a tiny office watching everything on my desk decay, I can take care of a few chores, and with my phone dead, Ylva can't give me any more dumb orders. I don't know where she expects to more explosives, but since she's handling that part of the plan, I'm not asking any questions. If I'm lucky, she won't be able to get more, and I can work with the old quantities.

This project is getting on my nerves. There's a thrill to watching anything as big as this go up in flames, but I prefer more subtle methods of supporting my Prince's Word. Tweaking the design of a building so that it'll show flaws fifteen years down the road when it's full of people, that's one thing, but importing and placing explosives, planning for a night when the place is actually full of people to notice... The risks mount faster than the expected return on the investment. I don't even want to think about something going wrong, but I need to, because that's gone from a distant possibility to one breathing down my neck.

Maybe if this is a smashing success I can dodge the triad, beg a new vessel out of my Prince, and set up shop somewhere else. I've been in this city for three years now, and that's enough time to spend in one place. Maybe I can ask for solo projects, with no idiot boss telling me how to do the job I know better than she does. Or even get loaned out to War to do work with them...

And maybe I can get a pony. The kind with sparkly wings and butterfly eyes. What am I _thinking_? Keeping my vessel in one piece and my Role intact is enough to worry about, on top of staying dissonance-free. I'll settle for not being shredded by my own Prince for abject failure and, let's be honest, consorting with the enemy. Anyone finds out about that, "I really didn't want them to kill me" won't fly well as an excuse. Fly like a brick to the head, maybe.

I don't mind walking around in this heat. Makes me feel like I'm back home, though I could do with less humidity. I'm starting to mind walking around with no idea what I'm looking for, though. What does the triad expect me to do? Stand in the middle of an alleyway calling "Here, Cherub Cherub Cherub" until someone shows up?

The building everything is swinging around is still waiting for me when I give up on the streets and come to it. It must have been a pretty hotel when it was still filled with people, but graffiti and age have dragged it down until it's nothing more than a husk. I intend to give it a fitting last fling, and its very own Viking funeral. Now those were humans who had an idea about how to run a party. Burn it all to the ground and move on.

There's a door in the back with official notices and chains and what not. That's the one with the broken lock that everyone else uses to sneak in through. The door I use is on the side, tucked into the far side of one of the jutting pieces of stonework. It has no particular signs or boards, and an excellent lock. Fortunately, I have the key.

Inside, bums curled up in the corners, teenagers sneaking out of school to do what hormone-ridden little monkeys usually do, and the obligatory druggies. Not too many of either, but I'm not in the mood to be seen, so I whisper out my only Song, and turn shadowy.

I'll give my last boss this much credit: she taught me one great way to escape notice. It's not so convenient as actually hitting celestial form--there are days when I'd dearly love to be able to walk through walls--but it's a lot better for letting me walk through a crowd without a single person catching sight of me. I've never yet been spotted by a human while using this Song. It's disconcerting for the first few seconds, when I can't see my own feet or hands, but then old habits kick in and I can walk down this dark hallway without breaking my stride.

The people lurking in this place aren't my concern. My last boss taught me more than this Song, she taught me lesson number four, which I'll share with Saul once he's calmed down a little more and isn't likely to take it the wrong way. Namely: there isn't a damn human out there who doesn't deserve punishment. She tested them and found them wanting every time, all of them as selfish and broken as any of us demons. The main difference is that, Habbalah aside, we generally admit to our wickedness. I hold my Role down adequately, but I've never claimed to be less than the bastard I am. To thine own self be true.

I wish I knew what the Ofanite was poking through last night. If she ran across my stash of philosophy books, that's going to get awkward.

There's a teenage couple making out on the stairs down to the basement. I step over them and make a note about adding a lock to the basement door. Don't want anyone running in and seeing things they shouldn't.

Shadows in the basement. One of them is me. There's not much light down here, but I don't even need what there is. I memorized the floor plan months ago. When this building does come down, I might even miss it. It's like...well. I can't say a worn-in jacket, because all of my jackets look worn-in half an hour after I've put them on. But it feels like my apartment. Not quite home, that's always going to be back in Sheol (I will not let myself turn gloomy over that), but comfortably well-known. The only reason I've spent so much time here is to work out the little incident where everything collapses into flames, but losing the old hotel is likely to feel like it would if Holly disappeared. A few moments of regret for losing something familiar.

Enough with the sentimentality. I find the spot I was looking for, and then count out the steps from there to the staircase in my head. Not good, not good at all. We're going to either need to clean the rubble away from that stretch of the floor, move an entire old water heater that weighs five times as much as I do, or change the wiring again. Too many unstable elements in here to let wires run loose and trust them to be okay. 

Even worse, I'll have a Habbalite-resonated monkey staggering around to do the button pushing. Those are even dumber than usual, and does Saul have any sense of restraint?The kid's not a raving lunatic like some Habbalah, but that doesn't mean he's reliable.

This is not going to be easy. Or reliable. And yet here I am, obliged to go through with it.

How do other Calabim who are dumber than I am handle this sort of thing? Blow up things until the problems go away? I settle for crumbling a few parts of the wall into a further state of decay, and then leave before the Song wears off.

I've spent most of the day looking for the Amazing Disappearing Cherub, and I'm not in the mood to head back to the office now. As far as Ylva's concerned, I'm out doing more field tests, and having identified one new problem, I consider that work well done for the day. Tomorrow I can work on solving it, and then on Saturday, maybe I can get back to the work my Role's supposed to cover. At this rate we're never going to get the contract for that new complex, not spending so much time and energy on this project. In the meantime, I intend to walk back to my favorite restaurant, enjoy dinner, and then go home in time to give Saul a few more lessons in proper behavior. Habbalah can be useful when they're not completely loony, and if I have to work with him, I'll very well make sure he's pushed as far towards useful as I can manage.

...oh, I did _not_ want to hear that rattle of disturbance off in the distance.

Maybe I can pretend I just thought it was thunder? No, can't lie to Seraphim, and somehow I don't think "I heard disturbance, but didn't really feel like following up on it was worth my time" will go over well. Maybe it's Erica, or Saul, or Ylva throwing a fit... Not coming from a direction any of them ought to be in, though.

It comes down to this: do I want to go poking around at what might or might not be an angry Cherub of Fire, or do I want to have a triad of Judgment that already doesn't like me convinced I'm no use to them?

Well. When I put it _that_ way.

I'm not usually much good at tracking disturbance, but this is coming through loud, clear, and specific. Erica's unlikely to be killing humans, Saul didn't seem the violent type--not physically--and if it's the triad, they're getting creative in how they pursue their missing angel. So it's a steady jog over in that direction, and then a perfectly normal walk once I hit public streets again.

Smeone's wreaking havoc in the cheap apartment complex next door, one of those rent by the month places I mentioned to the triad earlier. Maybe I'm lucky and they've caught up with--wait, if they catch her, I'm unnecessary, and that's not lucky at all.

I have to get another car. I meet too many of the wrong sort of people walking everywhere.

I hit the stairs inside the building with the disturbance still clattering inside my head. Let whoever else is up here take the elevator, please. 

No one meets me on the stairs, in a rare stroke of luck.

I reach the fifth floor, realize the disturbance came from lower down, and backtrack to wander down the fourth floor corridor as if I belong. There's a kid in the hallway, maybe six or seven years old, sitting on the floor with a cheap games like they pass out in Happy Meals. Complete with annoying beeping. "Hey, kid," I say, keeping far enough way to not look threatening. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Have you seen a woman come through here a few minutes ago?" They used 'she' to refer to the Cherub, so I'll take a wild guess and hope Esh-ban is using a female vessel. Most likely adult, or she'd be having a harder time keeping out of sight.

"Not supposed to talk to strangers," says the kid, poking industriously at her game.

"Your parents told you that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, your parents also let you play alone in a hallway where any stranger could walk by and grab you, so I don't think I'd call them experts on dealing with the real world strategies."

"Wasn't my mom. Was the babysitter. She's got her _boyfriend_ over." The girl can sneer as well as any Habbalite or Seraph. Impressive at such a young age. "He's stupid. And she's stupid too."

"Most people are stupid." I crouch down in front of the kid, though still not too close, because she's eyeing me with almost as much suspicion as I warrant. "Tell you what. If you can tell me whether or not you saw my friend around here, I'll give you five dollars, and you can go buy yourself something more entertaining than that stupid game."

"Are you a cop?"

"Yeah," I say, "I'm a cop, and I'm trying to track down a suspect. Can you keep that quiet?"

"If you're a cop, where's your uniform?"

"What, you've never heard of working undercover?" I lower my voice to a near-whisper. "It's secret. But I need to find her soon."

"What'd she do?"

Random crimes not likely to have been committed by the kid's own parents... "She stole something very important. Can't tell you more or I'd have to kill you, and that would suck. Cops don't like to kill children."

"I did see someone," says the girl, and puts her hand out. I yank out my wallet, find a five-dollar bill for her. The kid pockets it like she's used to regular bribes. "She came out of the apartment down there," and she points to the end of the hall, "but that's where Mr. Olson lives, and he doesn't have a girlfriend or anything. And when she saw me, she smiled, but it was like she was worried, y'know? And she went down in the elevator just a few minutes ago. Are you going to chase her now?"

"I need to make sure it's the right person," I say. "What did she look like?"

"Taller than _you_." Yes, thanks, kid, like that narrows it down much. Though a female vessel noticeably taller than me has to be a little above average height in women. "And, um..." I don't think the kid's used to describing people. "A really flat nose. And her hair's all orange. But not curly. And she was wearing...um. Pants?"

I stand up again. "You've been a big help, kid. I'd better go check this Mr. Olson's place. Now, it could get dangerous, so why don't you run off and buy yourself something?"

"Can't buy much with five bucks," says the girl hopefully, scrambling to her feet. "And I could go see if I see her outside? In case she didn't run far?"

Anything to get the kid out of my hair. I give her another two dollars. "Good idea. If you see her, don't say anything or act like you did, okay? And I'll find you later to ask. What's your name?"

"Maria Fernandez."

"Good work, Maria. You're a good citizen. Now get out of here, okay?"

She runs for the stairs rather than the elevator. Now I'm alone in the hallway, with a lead on...I don't know who. Maybe the Cherub, maybe not. Maybe I'm about to walk into a room where some human blinks up at me wondering why I'm there, and the death was actually in the apartment next door, but I don't have a lot of options.

The door's not locked. That's unusual in this neighborhood. I step inside, shut the door behind me. Lights are on, but at least as far as I can tell, nobody's home. The place is smaller than mine, one room with a sofa-bed stretched out across most of the space, empty beer cans and pizza boxes. And then smell--

\--doesn't cover up a distinctive tang of fresh blood. I yank open the bathroom door.

Okay, that was the closet, not the bathroom. Open the _other_ door. The one with the light trailing out from underneath, and, now that I pay more attention, sound of a fan going inside.

Dirty little bathroom, and in the tub, a dead man. At least I know I'm in the right place. I keep my hands behind my back, make a mental note to wipe the doorknob on my way out, and look closer.

Item: one adult male, age near forty (or younger if he's been living hard), slightly overweight, though I'm guessing that more from the shape of his hands than from his torso, given how well-spread the pieces are there. His insides look like they've exploded, but only at a casual glance. I know from exploding, and that's more the results of aggressive stabbing. There's no air conditioning in here, and the stench will be hideous by tomorrow. Blood on the tub suggests he was actually killed in here, not dumped, but there's no water, and he's still wearing clothing, so he wasn't jumped while in the bath. Someone put him in there and then did him in. Possibly because the bathroom is at the back of the apartment, and windowless. Between that and the vent fan grinding away overhead, inconvenient noises wouldn't get far.

I wonder if this is the Cherub's work, and if she did in Edward as well. Gabrielites have a variable time limit, usually around three days, but maybe hers is two? Or it could be a wandering Samingan, for all I know. Neither side in this war has a monopoly on casual murder.

There's a phone back in the main room, an old rotary model. I wrap my hand in a handkerchief I keep around for these sorts of situations, pick up the receiver, and spin out the number the triad gave me with a pen lying nearby.

"Hello?" No name given on the other end of the line. I wonder who they think might call.

"Hey, this is Leo. Think I have a lead on your little lost lamb. Do you know if she has any homicidal tendencies? I followed disturbance to find a human very dead, and messy enough that I have to wonder what sorts of issues the killer has. Didn't see her, but I might know someone who did."

"Don't go anywhere. We'll be right there." The line goes dead on me.

...and I didn't give them the address. Did they hear the disturbance too, or am I going to wait here until they think to do a callback on the phone and ask for that? With the Game, I'd assume a Djinn had attuned to me, but Cherubim don't run around attuning to demons they intend to kill later on. Or demons at all; we're not on their protection list.

I don't like that they know where I am. Song of Affinity? I don't know what they might have used for it. It's not like I really _make_ things, blueprints and plans aside. Though, unhappy moment here, they know where I live. Nothing to stop them from wandering into my apartment while I'm out (as they made sure I'd be today) and getting any random bit of hair lying around. That would do it. And if they still have that... they can find me whenever they want to.

Okay, new memo to self: find out how they're tracking me, solve that, burn down my apartment once I've moved my books out, and be more careful in the future. No wonder they're willing to let me run free. Here's to hoping they didn't start tracking me until today; if I've led them back to the office, my Prince is likely to be...unhappy. It's never a good sign when a plan is collapsing around me while I'm still setting it up, but what choice do I have?

So here I am, in a hot little apartment with a progressively more pungent dead man, waiting for a triad of Judgment to show up. How do I get into these situations? And am I ever going to get the smell out of this set of clothes?


	6. An Interlude, In Which Other People Get To Talk

Hakupha entered the room first to check for danger. She found the Calabite sprawled on a fold-out bed, flipping through a newspaper. "Evening," he said, not looking up. She frowned, but gestured the Seraph and Ofanite in behind her. "Dead body's over in the bathroom," the Calabite added. "Or just follow your nose."

The three of them packed themselves in the bathroom and its doorway to examine the scene. "Messy," said Ruhamah. As befit her choir, she stood at the back, where she could keep her movement free and an eye on the demon. "You think the Cherub did this?"

"Heard the disturbance, followed it here. Some woman left directly beforehand. Now, it's possible some other celestial did this, but I figured it was worth giving you a call." The Calabite shrugged, turned another page, and glanced at Ruhamah as she moved through the room. "Does anyone mind if I go now?"

"Stay," said Dothan sharply. He approached the body, hands behind his back. "Guardian?"

"Servitors of Gabriel can become enthusiastic in their duties," Hakupha said, and crouched by the tub despite the stench. "I can't tell if this...excess...comes from enthusiasm or urgency. If she's begun to take joy in the killing..." She reached down into the gore, extracted a wallet from the man's pants, and checked the ID. Showed it to the Seraph, who took notes.

"We don't yet know if this was Esh-ban's work," Dothan said. He let an irritable hiss of air escape between his teeth. "If we alert the mortal authorities, this may provide additional leads to her current position, if she was involved. But it could also complicate our investigation." He strode out of the bathroom. "Destroyer. Are there any other demons in this city who might have done this?"

The Calabite sat up, and considered this for a moment. "Not that I know of," he finally said, and Dothan was annoyed to find this was entirely true. "Could, yes. But none that would have."

"What other demons reside in this area?"

"If you want me dead, you could just kill me," the Calabite said, and his usual nervous manner turned colder. "I'd rather lose a vessel than be destroyed for betraying my Prince."

"And you haven't betrayed them sufficiently already?" Ruhamah asked lightly. She gave gave Dothan a quick "I know what I'm doing" hand signal when he frowned at her.

"You want to catch and remove a Cherub of Fire in the city. It's an acceptable compromise."

Dothan did not allow himself to smile. The Calabite's "acceptable compromise" walked an uncertain line between truth and lie even in the demon's opinion. "You believe none of the demons you know would do this?"

"Yes." The Calabite slowly returned to his usual nervous hunch. Dothan began to wonder how much of an act that was. An Elohite would be useful in these circumstances; a Calabite who wasn't afraid of a triad was either foolish, or had some reason for confidence, and this one seemed less foolish than many. "If I find out otherwise, I can let you know. So that you can stop pursuing this particular avenue of investigation."

"Do so."

"Tell me, Destroyer," said the Ofanite, "which of Jane Austen's books was your favorite?"

Cherub and Seraph alike managed to keep straight faces upon seeing the flash of horror that descended on the Calabite, but only with effort. Ruhamah didn't bother.

The Calabite glanced at the Seraph, and sighed. "Despite the weak ending, I preferred Sense and Sensibility."

"True," Dothan murmured, and returned to his investigation of the room.

"I don't think we're going to find anything more of use here," Hakupha said, after a few more minutes. She reached down and hauled the Calabite up by the fraying collar of his jacket before he could scramble out of the way. "Did you see her exit?"

"No, but I spoke with someone who did. I didn't get a good description. A tall woman with red hair." The Cherub allowed him to slide off the bed and back on his feet, though she didn't let go of his jacket. "I might be able to find the witness again, if you wanted to ask questions, though it may cost you."

Hakupha looked to the Seraph, received a gesture of agreement. "On your feet, then, and moving."

"I _am_ on my feet." The Calabite cowered under her glare. "...and moving. Right this way. See if she's still out the hall..."

The only person in the hallway was a child who hadn't been there when they passed through. She sat underneath a window with a stack of comic books on her bare knees. But that was who the Calabite approached. "Hey, Maria? Would you mind answering a few questions for these people?"

The child frowned, and peered around the Calabite's legs to look up at them. "Are they cops too?"

"No, they're detectives. Much more important than me. They only get called in when it's serious."

The Seraph disliked the buzz of half-truths, but attempted to look less stern. The little girl frowned up at him, and wiped her nose on the back of her arm. "You gonna give me five bucks too?"

While Dothan was still attempting to formulate an appropriate answer to that, the Calabite pulled out a wallet and yanked out another bill. "Here, you little mercenary. Now answer all the questions they ask you, okay?"

"Okay!" The child grinned toothily. "There was this lady who wasn't Mr. Olson's girlfriend who came out of there, because he doesn't have any girlfriend because no one likes him because he's mean and stuff, except he has kids so he must have had a girlfriend once but he doesn't now. And she was, um, tall and had orangey hair and a flat nose. And pants. They were black."

"Did you hear anything before you saw her?" Hakupha asked. "Did you see her go inside?"

"No," said the girl, and wiped her nose again. "I don't think so? Except maybe I heard something? But I don't know."

Dothan shook his head, and the Cherub stepped back. Humans would begin remembering things that never happened, given too much encouragement. "Let's go."

"Is Mr. Olson going to get arrested?" the child called, as the triad left, the Calabite walking in front of them.

"No," said the Seraph. "Most definitely not."

On the ground floor, Hakupha waved the Calabite away, and they continued in the opposite direction. "You're quieter than usual," the Cherub said to the Ofanite. "What are you concerned about?"

"It's not concern so much as annoyance," Ruhamah said, and grimaced. "He has so _much_ Discord, and it screams in my ears whenever I'm standing near him. It's one of the things I particularly dislike about being near Calabim. Like standing at the center of a burst of disturbance, and not being able to escape."

"I wonder why his Prince would send him to Earth at all," Hakupha said. "That sort of Discord makes a Servitor vulnerable."

"It does. But it also means he can't run back to Hell at the first sign of trouble, and he's in no danger of going Renegade. Or perhaps he's in a low-priority position, and it wasn't worth the trouble of sending someone else." The Ofanite shrugged. "It's of no great importance. I find the Habbalite a more likely weakness to work on among these demons."

"Which is not our mission here," Hakupha said.

"No, but worth trying, when the opportunity walks past us." The Ofanite looked up at the evening sky, all the stars blocked out by streetlights. "Usually God helps those who help themselves, but some days, She's not adverse to giving us a hand."


	7. In Which Something Good Actually Happens For Once. (Unsurprisingly, This Is a Short Chapter.)

If I never have to ride in an elevator while surrounded by a triad of Judgment again, that'll still be once too often. They let me escape once we hit the lobby, and I get back onto the streets heading in a direction defined as "not the direction they're going."

I have better things to worry about than that twelve dollars I'm never going to see again.

The air tastes like on-coming thunderstorms. I like rain; it destroys half the evidence it doesn't hide in the first place. But with those clouds on the horizon, I'm not getting home on foot before the rain hits. Regan's hotel is closer, and I wanted to see her anyway.

It shouldn't annoy me that the angels kept calling me "Destroyer". It's a standard name for Calabim, and they're not the sort to care about details. I'm a Calabite, therefore I get smited. Smote. Smitten. Whatever. But I gave them my name earlier. Avoiding names gives a killer psychological distance from their target, and angels might need that; they aren't made with the stab-your-buddy mentality we demons get. The less you see someone as a person like yourself, the easier it is to hurt them. 

That's what the psych textbooks claimed. By human standards, most demons are sociopaths, which does explain a lot about Hell. Empathy isn't really something we do. Maybe a touch of sympathy now and then, but it's frowned on by the higher-ups, and when "frowning" can equal "dismembering back to component Forces"... it's safer to avoid that too.

A niggling thought about empathy--right. Habbalah can do some weak version of emotion-reading, can't they? My old boss never bothered, but it would be useful, because it's more information. I'll bother Saul about that when I get home, see if he can manage it. If he focuses on that he might not resonate himself into stupid amounts of trouble. Saul's presence doesn't count as _my_ plan, so I can't eat dissonance for any problems he causes, but I need someone useful to help with my work.

Someone more like Regan.

Regan chose the best hotel in the city, and the incoming thunderstorm reached me before I reached the lobby. Which leaves me feeling out of place when I get to the suite's door and knock, dripping quietly on the carpet.

He opens the door, and looks me up and down. "You're a mess." He's turned on every lamp in the suite, until the place nearly glows.

"That's a bit like me saying, oh, Regan, you always tell the truth." I sit down on the bed, and toe off my shoes while he closes and latches the door. "How's it going?"

"Quite well. This whole job is progressing even better than I expected. The few remaining obstacles can be dealt with easily." He'd say the same if he were surrounded by Malakim of the Sword, but he's in such a good mood I want to believe him. "And with you?"

I lay flat on the bed and stare at the ceiling above me. It's not an interesting ceiling. "My boss is an idiot, my new roommate believes he's an angel of God, and I'll never afford a car if they keep docking my paycheck for damage to the office. Want to trade lives?" Let Regan deal with the triad, and watch the Seraph's eyes cross at him.

"Poor boy," Regan says, and sits down beside me. "I'd be more sympathetic if you didn't bring these things upon yourself."

"The damages I'll cop to, but the boss and roommate are not my fault."

"Curse of competence, Leo. They know you'll give the new Habbalite a decent grounding in how to deal with Earth, so they send him to you. They know you can compensate for your boss's stupidity, so they assign you to her. It's _entirely_ your fault."

"You know how to cheer a guy up." I roll onto my stomach, because the bedspread's more colorful than the ceiling. I pick gold threads out from white ones with a fingernail. "If I screw up, I'm dead. If I perform adequately, nothing will change. If I do well, they'll drop more problems on me because, hey, I've shown I can cope. No way to win this one."

"You are such a whiner," Regan says, and runs one hand down my back. Now that brings back memories, some of them even good. "You could be made a Knight, and you'd complain about more duties and subordinates to manage. Don't you have any ambition?"

"No. None." Regan knows exactly where to scratch between my shoulder blades, that place that _always_ itches when I think about it. "I want to get a nice long-term Role, something that pays well but doesn't draw much attention, in a quiet place all on my own. I can settle down and do my damn job without being hassled by Djinn or Habbalah or anyone else."

"Or Balseraphs?"

"Well. I wouldn't mind being hassled by a few Balseraphs." If it weren't for the angels in town, I'd nicely ask Regan to take celestial form, and offer to spot him the Essence if he disagreed. But I'm being discreet, I'm being cautious, I'm being smart. Another night, if we both survive that long.

"Then I have a proposal that might interest you." He stands up, so I roll back over and prop myself on my elbows. "How far can I trust you, Leo?"

"Far enough to keep my promises, and not to betray you, unless my Prince says otherwise or it would kill me." Being threatened by Judgment has given me a weird honesty habit; that's the truth. I like Regan when she's not trying to kill me.

"That far? Remarkable." His smile hasn't changed, even if the vessel has. "I have a meeting coming up next Wednesday. Do you have any appointments that would conflict with that?"

"Not yet, though I wouldn't put it past the boss to schedule something out of sheer perversity. But we're supposed to lend your Prince's Servitors a hand as needed. What do you need?"

"Security," Regan says. Rolls his eyes at my expression. "I'm not short on firepower, only personnel. I need a show of force, to encourage the other party to deal with me as I'd like. If we only wanted them dead, we could have done that weeks ago."

"So what are you negotiating?" I wonder who he's dealing with. Plenty of Princes out there are hostile to Baal, but not many whose Servitors would try to take on one of his in single combat, especially one of his Balseraphs. I know better than to even _try_ to dodge anything Regan throws at me. One more reason to stay on his good side.

"That's not your business," he says, "though you'll pick up certain details from being present. Can I trust you to keep quiet about it?"

"Sure." I'm curious, but not so curious as to press. "So you just need me to stand around and look thuggish during the meeting, and jump on people if unexpected guests arrive? I can manage that, for the right price."

Regan snaps open a briefcase, the cover facing me so that I can't see the contents. "How about ten thousand dollars?"

I just got little dollar signs in my eyes. "For that price, I'd be threatening in mime. How important is this meeting?" And if it's so important, why are they sending you? Regan's fast and competent, but not high-ranking.

"It has great potential." The Balseraph catches some of what I'm thinking, if the shrug that follows is any indication. "And risk, though the part you're involved in won't be unusually dangerous. There are two levels on which I can complete this mission in a satisfactory manner, and even the first will be enough to compensate for my earlier...difficulties."

"And if you hit level number two?"

"If I manage that, Leo, I'll buy you a car myself. However, I prefer to focus on the primary goal, while keeping my eyes open for an opportunity to do better."

I'm going to have to investigate this further. Discreetly, because it wouldn't do to give Regan the impression that I don't trust him. Anything his Prince wants, my own is likely to approve of too. I can justify cutting some work to look into this.

"I'll pay you half up front," Regan says, "and the other half afterwards. Just in case something comes up."

"It's a good price for any demon's promise," I say. "Anything else I can help you with, as long as I'm here? People to kill, explosives to arrange..."

"Nothing that crude. Though if you know any Lilim in the area willing to broker the deal, that might be useful. As a safety precaution."

"I know one, but she works for Lust. It'd take a serious fee to get her help." Erica charges enough for her usual clients, and she's supporting her Prince's cause when she takes those. Working for the War will take more doing.

"Mm. Think thirty thousand would be enough?"

"...yes." He sits down beside me again, having finished whatever he was doing in his briefcase. "Why does she get three times what I do?"

"Can you geas anyone, Leo?" Regan kisses me. "No? Then you don't get paid as much. Physical backup is useful, but the opportunity to make this bargain hold, or fill the target with dissonance otherwise... That's invaluable."

"Don't tell the Lilim that, or she'll try to put a price tag on invaluable." I wonder what the entropy buzz feels like to someone else. I've never been outside it to know. And I do wonder sometimes what it would be like to hit another Calabite's entropy, but they're not my favorite Band. My Prince aside, they don't seem bright. I'll stick to Balseraphs, who only mess with my head in predictable ways. "So this meeting is all that's keeping you in town?"

"It's complicated," Regan says. Shoves me down on the bed, and smiles at me from above. "But as with so many missions, it consists of brief moments of panic surrounded by long stretches of tedium. I'm bored, Leo. Think you can help me with that?"

"For you? For free, even." This is the first time someone I've known so well has switched to a new vessel. (Shedim don't count.) It'll take some getting used to. I know full well that this is the same Balseraph I knew in college, but that's a stranger's face looking down on me. "I miss your old vessel. Liked it better than this one."

"Because it was female?"

"Nah, because of the scar. Gave the whole face personality." He stretches out on top of me, and I trace one finger where that scar used to be, right beneath her left eye. "I liked that scar."

"I'm glad to be rid of it. It was a reminder from my fencing instructor." Regan chuckles, sending strange vibrations through my chest. "About watching what an opponent means to do, not only what that opponent is doing. She left me unhealed for a time until I improved. Marvelous incentive for improvement. Who ever heard of a five-eyed Balseraph?"

"I still liked the old vessel better."

"Shut up, Leo."

"Okay."


	8. In Which My Roommate Is An Idiot

Ten to five in the morning. Too early for the morning rush to begin trickling into the streets, too late for the drunks ousted from the bars to linger; they've all gotten home or collapsed by now. Regan offers me my shirt, dangling it between thumb and forefinger as if forced to handle roadkill. "They can call you a cab downstairs."

"I'll walk." This shirt's not long for this world; I'll have to dig another one out before work. "The rain's stopped, and even Ylva doesn't expect me in the office by six."

"It's not as if you can't afford a cab," he says, and I do have fifty crisp bills to take with me, though they'll be crumpled by the time I get to the bank. "A martyr complex doesn't suit you."

"Nothing to do with being a martyr, I just don't like cabs. I sit in the back, the guy in the front drives, and either I stare out the window while he stares ahead, or we make awkward conversation. He doesn't care about me, I don't care about him, the whole thing's awkward. If I'm desperate for public transportation, I'd rather take a bus." I yank on my last shoe, work the laces into something like a proper knot. If it wouldn't look silly, I'd switch to velcro. "You know my address. Drop by any time."

"I'm not stopping by your place. I've seen the way you live." Regan shudders delicately. "If I need to contact you, I'll send word to your office."

"It's not like I can help it," I say, and grin as if I feel confident. "I'm not messy, I'm just drawn that way."

Regan only rolls his eyes at me, so I head out. I have to give this city that much credit, there are sidewalks where there ought to be sidewalks. I've seen places where it was walk in the street or don't walk at all. If I ever get a chance to do urban planning, I'll make sure there are some damn sidewalks around. You'd think humans would be more considerate of their own species.

It would be entertaining if someone tried to mug me on the way home, but either my neighborhood's not rough enough, or all the muggers are in bed. Even criminals need to get a decent night's sleep. In the dim hallway in front of my door, I find my keys, then realize the door's not locked--oh. Right. Roommate. Push the door open--

\--no, wait, the door is _not_ supposed to swing open that easily.

There's supposed to be a heap of laundry on the floor. Not...nothing but the floor.

"What. Are you _doing_?" Not going to kill him, not going to kill him, Ylva will be pissed and I'll have to do all the work myself if I kill him.

Saul looks up from where he's stuffing some battered article of clothing into a trash bag. "Cleaning up, what does it look like I'm doing?"

I have not seen the carpet to this apartment in so long I'd forgotten the color. (I assume this generic beige is the carpet's original color. For all I know, it started out white.) All the drifts of laundry, papers, and other junk have turned into...trash bags. A series of neatly tied trash bags. "Do Habbalah come with a death wish built in? This is my stuff!"

"I'm being careful, Leo." He goes back to sorting through a heap, dropping one item after another into the bag. "Anything that's not complete trash, I set aside for you to go through later. But this place is a mess."

His head hits the wall hard enough to crack the plaster and whisper out a note of disturbance. "It's _my_ mess." I let him get up again, consider repeating the move a few times to get the point home. "You're not even helping with the rent." Not allowed to kill him. Not even a little. I could break his legs, but he couldn't get to work tomorrow, and my boss would have her revenge. "Self-control is not a feature of Habbalah, but if you hold off on the spring cleaning until you move out? You'll live longer."

He puts a hand to his head, stares at the blood on his fingers like he's not sure where it came from. "But I need to get the place clean."

I don't want to know. I really don't want to know. But I'm going to ask anyway. "Why?"

"Can't invite my girlfriend over to a place that looks like this," Saul says, sweeps out one hand to indicate the room.

I had to ask. And I'm going to keep asking, because at this point even if I didn't need to know, the sick fascination would be drawing me in. "Since when do you have a girlfriend?"

"I met her last night. I was at a bar lookin for someone like you said, and I saw her, and..." It's never a good sign when a Habbalite gets a dreamy expression. "I was only going to introduce myself, to get her number for later. But we started talking, and she's the most _fascinating_ person I've ever met. I never would have believed a human could know so much about everything. We talking theology until the bar closed."

"You...got your resonance bounced on you. Second night on Earth and you're already--" Unusually enough, I'm at a loss for words. I settle for turning a few trash bags into exploding piles of fabric, plastic, and wood pulp. "What did I tell you about using that?" I push him up against the wall, not hard enough to do damage to him or it, and hold him there while I try to think. "Were you even listening to anything I said?"

"It's not like that," Saul protests, standard baby-demon whine in his voice. "This has nothing to do with my resonance! She's this amazing woman, and--you wouldn't understand."

"I understand bounced Habbalite resonances perfectly well, you...twit." Not the right word, but nothing stronger seems appropriate for this juvenile stupidity. I take deep, calming breaths. Focus. "Do you know how long you'll be obsessed?"

"You can't put a time limit on this kind of relationship, Leo."

"I'll take that to mean no." I let go of his shirt, pace around the weirdly clean coffee table. "Fine, you're going to be drawing hearts on the back of the boss's memos for days, I can _deal_ with this. It never lasts more than a week. But...go visit her at her apartment, and stop doing this to mine!"

"I can't go to her apartment," Saul says, in what he probably believes is a soothing tone. What I'd find soothing right now would be resonating him into a bloody heap, but why make a mess on the carpet during its first glimpse of the light in months? "She has a roommate."

"...so do you!"

"Yes, but you're not human. You don't need to sleep, or anything. You could go...do other things in other places for a while, right?"

Can't kill him. Can't kill him even a little. Though I'm not sure he needs _both_ arms to function at work. "You know what? You're not a Punisher. You're a punishment. Sent directly from God, to me, to make sure I know how much he hates me. There is no other way I can explain you."

"You don't have to be so rude about it, just because you don't have a girlfriend," Saul says, and frowns. "I know how I feel about her, but I don't know if she feels the same way back. What if she doesn't think we're dating? She was friendly enough, and she gave me her number, and I gave her mine, and we were talking until they kicked us out when the bar closed, but how can I be sure?"

Every single bit of warm buzz I acquired from Regan has fled, leaving me with a headache that's building up to a power that would rival my own resonance. Crack my skull and watch half the building explode. "I don't know, try to do that emotion-sensing thing. If you focus carefully you have a chance at it, right? And--look, go find a motel or something. That's traditional. Take her to a weepy movie, get dinner at a place that meets your sanitation standards, just stay away from me, stay out of my apartment, and leave me in peace." He reaches down to pick up a lone sleeve hanging off the couch's arm. "And stop cleaning things, or you're going to end up with a lot more blood stains to scrub out."

I collapse on the couch It feels odd with nothing but the cushions on it. Sudden unpleasant thought. "Are you sure she's human?"

"Oh, sure. She dropped a glass around one in the morning, and there wasn't any disturbance when it broke."

"Not conclusive proof, but reassuring." If he's acquired his own angel leech, I might have to start screaming. Or blowing up things without permission. Very large things. Like the city. That'd be one way to take care of the lingering Cherub of Fire problem, burn the whole place down to the ground and let God sort them out. But I suspect my Prince would disapprove. There's destruction in flames, and then there's destruction in flames loud enough to scream through the Symphony for hundreds of miles around. The latter gets frowned on.

"She's a lawyer," he says, and stuffs his hands into jacket pockets.

"Did I ask?"

"And she has this whole trust fund set up, so she can afford to do lots of pro bono work. She was telling me about one of her latest cases--"

"Saul--"

"--where she was dealing with a suit against a landlord who was flaking out on his responsibilities, and she had to gather evidence to prove--"

"Solveig!"

He blinks, and stops. "Yes?"

"Do I look like I care?" This apartment doesn't look like mine anymore, not with the familiar layer of clutter cleaned away. I can even see my bookcase from here, all the books turned spine to the back to hide their titles. So that's where the Ofanite got her information. There's nothing wrong with my choice of reading material. I'm sure plenty of Flowers Servitors read Stephen King; Erica could have a secret stash of Arthurian romances and still do her job.

"No," Saul says, after I refuse to be bothered by his dramatic silence. "I suppose you don't." He sits down on the couch, not looking at me. "Though if you met her, you'd like her."

"Because she's so enthralling, amazing, brilliant, considerate, witty, and beautiful, everyone would have to like her." I close my eyes, and wish I were back at the hotel with Regan. "Let's play a game. It's called 'How To Stay Alive', and it's very exciting. You shut up about your new girlfriend, and I don't lose my temper in your direction. Sound like a plan to you?"

"Fine," he snaps, but at least he shuts up.

I was planning on dealing with these problems without any help, I can still manage it. Sure, I have a commitment to Regan, a roommate who's hit new heights of insanity even for a Habbalite, a triad following me around, a murderous Cherub of Gabriel I'm supposed to find, and a boss who thinks "discreet" means not buying the explosives in the middle of the street, but I can manage. Somehow. I just need a brilliant, fool-proof plan that can't possibly come back to bite me in its implementation.

Doomed.


	9. In Which Once Is Happenstance, Twice Is Coincidence, Three Times Is Enemy Action

Saturday evening, and I'm in the office. Tomorrow, I'll be back in the office half the day. It's a wonder I can maintain a Role at all with the hours my boss demands. She spent most of yesterday having Holly relay snippy reminders to me about all of the _other_ projects I'm supposed to be working on. Yeah, I'll get right on those, Ylva. In my copious free time. Not like I'm trying to get my job done with one less Soldier to work with and a love-obsessed roommate or anything.

I haven't heard from the triad since Thursday. Maybe they're busy with that Cherub of Gabriel, and they've forgotten about me. Maybe they'll be so busy they forget about me entirely and go back to Heaven for drinks and lectures or whatever it is that Servitors of Judgment do after an assignment, and I can get this done without interference. Or maybe it's time for me to ask them to kill me now and spare me from the incipient doom.

Well. Not kill me _now_. I still need to help Regan with that meeting. I wonder if I could get the triad to schedule my execution for a convenient date afterward? I could promise to show up...

The intercom buzzes. Holly's home today, like any sane human on a weekend, so Ylva has to buzz me directly. Poor Djinn, forced to be directly grumpy instead of passive-aggressive. "Leo? To my office."

"Yes, mistress of apathy." The intercom light is already off again. I shove my chair back and stomp down the hall. Even Carlos went home at three, today.

To my relief, Ylva is the only one in the office. I'm not in the mood to deal with Saul or with another new hire. "What's the deal?" I take a seat and slouch down. Please, please don't be deciding to double the explosives again.

"Confirmation from higher up, after I sent in an image of someone Carlos noticed making disturbance," she says. "One of the enemy is in the city. A known Servitor of Gabriel. Possibly more than one."

Not the angle I expected to get a lead from, but I'll take what I can get. If I start passing on information I've received from my boss to the triad... It's probably too late to worry about treason charges anyway. "Details?"

She slides a photograph across the desk. Carlos doesn't know how to use the lens on his camera. It's clear enough to make out the two faces, aesthetic merits aside. A man with a Greek cast to his features and a hooked nose, focused on something beyond the camera's range. That's an expression associated with Servitors of Gabriel: fierce and determined. The shorter woman beside him, dark skin and dark hair, doesn't look as ready to go smite someone. Maybe ready to go teach a college class; her clothes are two steps higher on the professional dress ladder. Not a tall woman with red hair in either case. "So which one's our angel?"

"The male. Records say he has demonstrated Her Malakite attunement." Ylva doesn't want to say Gabriel's name, and I'm wondering who staggered out of Trauma to pass on the green hands information. "We don't have any information on his companion. She may only be a human."

"Or she might be a twelve-Force Malakite of Fire herself, right." I flick the picture back across the desk. "So noted. What do you want me to do about it? Do we have any clue why they're here?" The triad would have mentioned if the Cherub was running around with friends. Probably. Though they haven't told me about any of her attuned, so for all I know that maybe-Malakite is the one I'm supposed to be watching for in a second vessel, and the woman is who she's attuned to. Less pleasant is the possibility that we now have three angels running around in the city. That's not even counting the triad.

"We don't know why they're here. But the possibility of them interfering with our operations is too high to ignore."

"We could throw Saul at them, and see if he can keep them distracted," I suggest. "No great loss, and he might even take one out before they killed him." It's not a good plan, but she's going to reject my first suggestion regardless. Never lead with your best plan.

"You were supposed to be watching him," she says. "You can't even keep a cooperative demon out of trouble for a few days?"

"It's not my fault he decided to go get his resonance bounced back on him." Figures that she would bring this up; love makes people stupid, and Habbalite-granted obsessive love more so, which means Saul hasn't kept his distraction secret. Holly called it cute, yesterday. She also calls dogs bred to look like they've been hit in the face with shovels cute too, so I don't consider her a good judge. "My mistake for assuming they'd send us someone who could follow dirt-simple instructions. I didn't think 'Don't use your resonance on anyone until I say so' would be _that_ hard to comprehend."

Ylva dismisses that with a gesture. "Solveig obviously can't deal with these. You'll need to investigate them."

...no, I was supposed to get a chance to make another suggestion first. "What do you expect me to do? Walk up and ask them what they're doing?"

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure something out."

Figure something out, yes. Figure something out that won't get me killed, less likely. "How about we avoid them unless they start poking into our work? Why borrow trouble? If we confront them, they'll start paying attention to us. We don't want that." We're not equipped to fight off angels. We're an _architectural firm_ , not a Tether.

"Confrontation shouldn't be necessary. Only find out what they're doing, and if it's likely to interfere with us."

"Fine." I'll come up with some clever plan. Or ignore the problem until they go away, and make something up. At times, having an apathetic boss can be handy. "Give me back the picture. I don't want to spend half the night following the wrong people. Where did Carlos see them?"

She gives me the photograph, and I tuck it into my shirt pocket. It'll survive for long enough. "Just down the street from where he lives. He didn't follow them." 

I nod, and stand up. A Djinn wouldn't want her attuned wandering too near to angels, much less a branded one. Far too easy for someone to track her down through that brand--

\--wait. I should have thought of this earlier, I'm an idiot for letting details distract me, I should have asked. "Ylva, was Edward one of your branded attuned?"

"Of course." I think every human in the office save Holly has been branded, but I could hope. "I made sure to remove the brand from him before leaving the body."

"Mm. Right. I'll get to work." She gives me a gloomy stare, but doesn't object as I leave the office.

Chances of the rampaging Cherub of Fire being the one who did in Edward: moderate to high. Chances of her noticing the brand in the process: low, but not low enough. Chance of her tracking my boss through that brand, if she actually noticed it: virtually guaranteed. So either Esh-ban wasn't the one who killed Edward, or she didn't notice the brand, or she's being very patient about that tracking. One more possibility to keep in mind, and if I come back to the office to find Ylva's vessel slaughtered--

No, that's a _good_ thing. I'd be expected to call off the operation, send word back home for reassignment on account of a compromised Role, and get the hell out of the city. My Prince would be angry, but not at _me_ , and Ylva could take the blame for letting her attuned wander into angels. I can't set it up myself, but letting a disliked colleague wander into traffic without letting her know a bus is coming... That's traditional. This is something to keep in mind. I'd rather like to see a Cherub vs. Djinn all out battle. From a safe distance. 

And the boss has just given me the perfect excuse for being out of the office for a few days. Sorry, can't come in, I'm tracking down angels. You'll just have to find someone else to work on those projects.

I use the phone on Holly's desk to call Regan's hotel room. "Up for a game, Regan?"

"What sort?" Doesn't need to ask who's on the other end. We know each other too well, sometimes.

"Your kind of fun. Possibly even the pointy kind."

"Entertaining. I take it you'd rather discuss it in person?"

"Exactly. If you're already in, I'll drop by--"

"Are you at work?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'll go there. You take too long to get places." He hangs up, and I find my right hand's gotten tangled in the phone cord. Who uses a corded phone in this day and age? Must be some hideous relic that predates my arrival, and that Ylva's too cheap to replace. Holly ought to request a new one, but as the lowest on the corporate ladder, she doesn't even get fans.

I'm not sure this office is large enough to have a corporate ladder. A corporate footstool, maybe.

Regan knocks before coming into my office, but doesn't wait for me to answer the door. It's almost like civility. "So what sort of games did you have in mind?" He also looks pointedly at the single chair.

I refuse to be driven out of my own chair once I'm sitting in it. "Up for angel-hunting? Assuming the big bad Mercurian didn't turn you off the idea permanently."

"Hardly. If you recall, it wasn't the Mercurian who caused trouble, but the two angels who showed up after that fight began." It's not the way I remember it happening, but I know better than to contradict a Balseraph's face-saving revision of history. He folds his arms neatly. "What did you have in mind?"

I pull out the picture, and hold it up in front of me, so that he has to lean over the desk to examine it. "Recognize either vessel?"

"I can't say that I do. Both angels?"

"Possibly. The man's known to be one, the woman we're not sure about. They just showed up, and the boss wants to make sure they don't interfere with our work. This could mean staying out of their way until they leave. But if that's not a viable solution..."

"Then more direct methods are called for." I can see the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. Thought he might like this. I know how to give the best Welcome Back presents to Balseraphs of War. "If there are two of them, having two of us would be appropriate. The one you know, what is he?"

"Servitor of Gabriel. Either a Malakite or has the attunement for it, we're not sure which. Green flames are distinctive." And was that a twitch I saw when I mentioned Gabriel? Yes, it was. Regan is nearly as clever as I am, and far smoother in dealing with people, but not the best at concealing reactions. It comes from being convinced one is always honest. "Sorry it couldn't be one of Michael's for you to play with. No doubt you'll find a way to deal with the disappointment."

"Hardly disappointed," Regan murmurs, and snatches the photograph from my hand. "How...complicating. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. In this case, a direct solution may be the most useful."

"You're playing with Fire, then." I'd dearly like to press for more information, but if I start, Regan's going to want to know why I'm jumping to conclusions. "Isn't that supposed to be more my territory?"

"The War is broad, and covers every Word eventually," Regan says. "This shouldn't concern your projects. However, given the overlap, and that you were already intending to investigate... I'm drafting you for help with this little complication. The sooner we take care of it, the better. It wouldn't do for certain parties to get ideas they shouldn't."

"That's the problem with ideas, they just pop into people's heads without our permission. But I'm guessing you don't want 'certain parties' to meet." It's not that I don't believe in coincidences, but these coincidences are adding up in what had been a quiet city. Gabriel's punishers and Dominic's judges and a Balseraph of the War, all converging on my city at the same time. At this point, I don't care why Esh-ban chose my city to run to, but I intend to have a pointed discussion with her about the matter once I catch up. "I have an area where they were seen recently. How soon do you need them out of the way?"

"Quickly. The longer they're here, the greater chance of them interfering with my plans. You can return to your other duties after they're dealt with." Typical of his Word and his Band to assume that authority, but I'm not about to argue when I want to do what he's ordering. "By quickly, I mean now. You can give directions on the way. I have a rental car waiting outside."

"I don't suppose I get paid for this?" I stuff the papers I was working on into the top of my desk drawer, and follow him out of the office. "Given how useful it could be to you..."

"Don't press your luck." The familiar snap is back in his voice, the one he gets when he's on course for destroying something. Hurrying behind him while working out how to direct him towards my goals makes me feel like I'm back in college. He still has information I desperately need, but how to extract it... Well. Regan was never good at keeping secrets from me. I'll work something out.

His car is flashier than I would have chosen for a discreet mission, and I doubt he got it because the rental agency was out of anything else. The coupe's parked by a red-painted stretch of curb, and being written up as we approach. The woman smirks at us. "You were parked in a red zone, sir."

Regan smiles sweetly. "So I have. But that shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, really?" She waves a slip of paper at him. "You think this is no problem?"

"It's a simple mistake on your part," Regan says. "The red paint on the curb doesn't mean that I can't park here, only that parking is for a limited time. And if you check your records, you'll see my car hasn't been here any longer than the time allotted."

The woman looks down at the paper in her hands. "...you're right. I'm so sorry, I must have been confused by..." She doesn't have any way to finish the sentence.

"Happens to everyone, now and then," Regan says, and watches as she rips up the ticket. "No harm done."

"Very sorry for bothering you." She wanders away with a dazed look.

"You know," I say, once Regan's unlocked the doors, "you're good at talking people into things."

"I tell them the truth," he says. "Most people will understand the truth of a situation once it's explained to them."

"I'm sure they do, when you're explaining." Not all Balseraphs are as deluded about their own resonance as Regan is, though they're one and all convinced that they never, ever lie. Complete with the mental gymnastics required to believe this right after they've done so. Like the Habbalite delusion, it can be annoying.

Calabim don't have any delusions common to our Band. But if we did, how would I know? I'd be entirely convinced by it, no matter how often other people pointed out the problem.

This is the sort of thing I try not to think about too much. It's never _useful_.

"Left," I say, when we hit the main road. "Two miles west, I'll let you know when to turn again."

Regan drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives. "Another way to track these two: make some noise and see if they came running. There aren't any Tethers in the city to destabilize. None that I know of, and if I don't know of them, they're not important to my Prince or yours."

"That much noise, and my boss would have my head for it," I say, before Regan can start planning too enthusiastically. "Besides, who else might be around? We'd pull in more than we could handle. Let's start investigating, work out likely directions, and not blow things up." Not quite yet.

"I did mention I need this taken care of quickly, didn't I?"

"Speed's one priority. Remember that we have other priorities. You, for one, are going to have a hard time getting to that meeting of yours if you lose a vessel, aren't you? So let's start with plans that involve less potential death on our side."

"Coward." To anyone else, I think he'd mean that as a serious insult, for me, he only sounds amused. If I want to delude myself, I could call it fond.

"I'd like to see home again, but not just yet."

"You're not missing much. The corporeal plane is more pleasant than Hell, even for those of us with favor." Which I suppose we do have, compared to the damned souls and demonlings and the Servitors who've never had a Heart made for them. Hadn't particularly considered that before; when I left Hell, I was still young and fresh out of the classes meant to keep me from embarrassing my supervisor once I got to Earth. "Trust me, Leo, you have no reason to want to get back to Hell. Try to enjoy the fact that you can't be called back home to be chewed out there. Reprimands sent by email lose some of their sting in transit."

"I'm sure my boss can add it back in when she passes the message on." I shouldn't care about being stuck on Earth. Regan's right. But it doesn't keep me from missing Sheol. It's natural to want what I can't have.


	10. An Interlude, Absolutely Full Of Those Annoying Angelic Types.

The silence stretched out. Dothan met the Malakite's glare calmly, while Hakupha matched it with her own stern look. The Elohite continued to wait with a neutral cast to her features.

Ruhamah snapped her gum, and three angels twitched at the sound.

"Your presence is not _required_ ," the Malakite said, through clenched teeth.

"That you believe this to be true does not make it correct," said Dothan, glad to finally have a statement to judge.

"Besides," said Hakupha, arms folded, "you're liable to interfere with our assignment. You'd help an Outcast escape justice to satisfy your own grudges."

"And you'd hound a Servitor of Fire into further dissonance to suit your own ideas of justice," snarled the Malakite. "How many angels have you pushed towards Hell through your actions?"

"Surely no more than the humans you've pushed towards their fates through your own ideas of appropriate punishment," said Ruhamah, and if she was smiling, her voice was cold. "Esh-ban is Outcast, and she _is_ our business. You can have all the prejudices you care to, but we seek justice here."

"Judgment. Not justice." The Malakite's hands twitched at his sides. "Your idea of what is _just_ \--"

"Peace, Virtue," murmured the Elohite, and the Malakite subsided into a distinctly hostile silence. "The point remains," she continued, "we have no dissonance upon us, and remain in the good graces of our Lady. You have no cause to hold us, nor authority to hinder us in our tasks. Even if our intentions should cross yours."

"For the moment," said Dothan. His gaze was no longer so calm.

"For the moment." The Elohite shrugged minutely. "It would be in our best interests to cooperate, and share information, for a speedy resolution to this matter. However, as we would insist on returning Esh-ban to our Lady for reprimand, and you would insist otherwise, this seems unlikely."

Hakupha snorted. "No doubt you'd be happy to spirit her away and have her suffer no consequences for what she's done."

"There will be consequences," said the Malakite. "Four of her attuned are dead, Guardian. Surely you can understand the gravity of this. She has abandoned her duties. Before there are consequences, there will be an explanation. One that I don't trust you to acquire before pronouncing sentence."

"You can't see the truth out of what she tells you," said Dothan.

"Most Holy." From the Malakite, it was nearly an epithet. "I can see her honor, and that's truth enough for me. Now. If you will excuse us." He stalked away into the night, the Elohite a silent figure behind him.

"Pity you're not tracking them," Ruhamah murmured.

"They're not the subject of any investigation. They are...as their Archangel wishes them to be. I'm not about to bind myself to protecting those." Hakupha shook her head. "We ought to be able to send them back home. They're bound to interfere. If we had broader powers of authority over the Servitors of other Archangels--"

"Then we'd be coming too close to the ways of the Game," Ruhamah said. She wasn't wearing a smile anymore. "We enforce the rules, and we in turn have our own. If we cannot work within the limits we've been given, something is wrong."

"True enough," said Hakupha, and sighed. "If they run across that Destroyer, they're likely to kill him. And _they_ won't report to us if they find Esh-ban. There is something dreadfully wrong indeed, if I'm hoping a demon stays out of the attention of two angels."

"Necessity makes strange bedfellows, and complications. You could sense danger to him and find it was one of them. We'll have to be cautious." The Ofanite rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Do you know, I believed the hardest part of this job would be finding her?"

"They would dare criticize the justice of the Most Just," said Dothan, more to himself than to his companions. "I am...most displeased."

"Ha! You haven't met up with many Gabrielites, have you?" The Cherub walked Dothan over to a park bench, and sat beside him there. "These ones were _polite_. Didn't set anyone on fire, or flee, or shout." She gestured behind the Seraph's back to Ruhamah.

"Oh, she's right. These ones aren't so bad. Sure, they might try to run off with Esh-ban, but that doesn't stop us from finding her first. Gabrielites are like that." The Ofanite sat on the back of the bench, her legs dangling down the other side. "It would be nice if there were an Archangel of my Choir who could be more...stable. Between Gabriel and Janus, it's a wonder Ofanim get any respect at all."

"They were uncivil," muttered Dothan. "Which may be expected from Outcasts and other angels who have reason to dislike our presence, but is inappropriate from angels who have nothing to hide from us."

"And wouldn't we all prefer that the rest of Heaven could buckle down and do what they're supposed to in perfect harmony, so that we could concentrate on the enemy? But that's not the way it works." Ruhamah patted the Seraph lightly on the shoulder. "I will admit that it's disconcerting to get more cooperation from the demon than the angels. But he has more reason to fear us."

"We could go track him down again," Hakupha suggested brightly. "And see if he's actually be doing what he promised he would."

Dothan turned his head to give her an arch look. "Guardian, have you developed an unreasonable level of interest in this demon?"

"More that I could use the stress relief of beating a few answers out of him," the Cherub said. "It's not like he wouldn't _deserve_ it. But he'd probably just cooperate anyway." She waved away the question. "I have no intention of taking this to unreasonable levels, Most Holy. And you would both notice if it were anything of the sort. But even without the need to protect that one, my thoughts are naturally drawn towards those I'm attuned to when they're out of my sight."

"Do you want to check on him tonight?" Ruhamah asked.

"I don't think so. He's moving about, so he might well be doing what we asked. If we haven't heard from him by tomorrow evening, then." Hakupha grinned. "He's in a remote sort of danger, but of _course_ he's in danger. We know how to find him. It doesn't get much more dangerous than that."


	11. In Which I Get My Hands Dirty, And Information Is Acquired

"We could hit breakfast places," Regan says. "Do angels eat breakfast?"

"Depends on whether or not they're trying to hold down Roles." I shift in my seat, more than tired of sitting here. I'd rather be walking again, but when it comes to watching for the faces of passersby, driving is faster. Must make Regan tell me what he knows, so that I can make better plans.

_Leo. Gloria's dead. Check her apartment. Retrieve the brand. Now._ The words drop into my head with a whisper of Essence to carry them, and I can't keep from twitching. _Hate_ that Song, no matter how useful it may be or that I got Essence out of it. I can do without words appearing in my head, thank you very much. "Up for a quick detour? My boss just dropped a new assignment into my head."

"Celestial Tongues?" Regan sighs. "Please tell me this won't take long."

"Shouldn't. Dead human, time to get her brand off before someone finds it. Ylva will expect me look around the murder scene, though if she wanted me to investigate thoroughly she would have said so. I'll point out the way."

"It's not as if we're having luck so far," Regan says, and takes the next turn.

I don't like picking locks where people can see me, so Regan stands in front of me watching for people wandering past this side of the apartment building. Fortunately, not many people stare at the third floor on the side of the building facing a tree line. "It would be easier to resonate the door," Regan points out. "Your resonance doesn't make any disturbance."

"Yes, and then Ylva would complain about the door being gone when someone came by to find out why Gloria stopped paying the rent. And dock my pay for the replacement" The lock clicks open. "Let's see if she choked on her breakfast or what."

The apartment is a squalid one-bedroom. Ylva determines how much everyone in the office gets paid, and all her pets have better reasons than their income to work there. Empty main room, though I check in the kitchen cabinets for poorly-stowed bodies. No one in the bathroom, in the tub or otherwise.

In the bedroom, sprawled across the floor in front of the bed, that's Gloria. Or what's left of her. Some of her insides have disappeared beneath the bed, and the drying blood has spread out across a good portion of the floor. Squishy carpet is not the most pleasant sensation. "What fun." I crouch down next to the body, and search for the brand.

"Not very tidy," Regan says, in the tone of one who would have done a better job.

"Tell me about it." I don't like pawing over a dead body, between the blood and rising smell, but Ylva will have my head if I don't get this. "Sorry about the detour, but you know how bosses get."

"And Djinn about their pets." Regan stands in the doorway to keep his shoes free from bloodstains. The carpet squelches every time I shift my weight. "We weren't making much progress ourselves."

"It's a big city, and we're looking for two people. Days like these, I wish Hell got Kyriotates instead of Shedim. It would be so much easier to _find_ things. Pass me your knife." The brand is on this woman's left shoulder, and my hands are a bloody mess from picking away at the remains of her clothing until I found the spot.

Regan draws his knife, and flips it about to offer me the handle. "You don't seem surprised about this."

"Second one of the boss's pets to get disemboweled in the last week, so I'm sensing a trend. We have no idea yet who's doing it. Maybe those Gabrielites we're looking for, if they've been in the city longer than we knew. It's odd that they chose two of hers as targets so quickly, if they're recent." One of the convenient things about Regan is that his weird sense of honor can guilt him into talking, once I find the right angle. I slice around the brand two inches out on each side to make sure I get everything. "If they know where we are, that's a problem. Don't imagine that's the case, though. With two of them, they could storm in late at night. None of this skulking around the edges. That's more the work of someone solitary, trying to draw us out."

"You think it's someone looking for you?" Just the edge I've been listening for, in his voice.

"It's a possibility." I stand up, and hold out the rectangle of flesh. A nasty dangling thing, squishy at the edges, smelly and warm. Humans are more unpleasant dead than alive. I can see where Impudites are coming from on that. "I appreciate how useful the Djinn of Fire attunement is, but I wish it didn't always end with me being sent to skin a body." I should've thought to grab a bag. "Two dead Hellsworn might only be coincidence. My boss doesn't hire the kind and gentle sort, right? Three bodies, then I'll worry." There's been a third body, but it wasn't anyone we knew. Wonder how long until this starts hitting the mortal news services; it's not like Ylva or I have been doing more than covering our own tracks, and I don't know what the Judges did about that Mr. Olson. If anything.

"Coincidence," echoes Regan, and offers me a handkerchief to wrap the skin in. I wipe my hands on it as best I can. "Can we get back to the search now, or will that Djinn insist on more?"

"She doesn't care, once the brand is off. But...huh. Sunday. What time is it?" The days start to blend together when I don't bother stopping home for pseudo-sleep, but daylight is streaming in through the windows of this dank little apartment, so we must have passed dawn. We were discussing breakfast.

"Some day, I'll find you a watch that doesn't stop working, if only so that you can stop asking me that. It's a quarter to noon."

"Right. Let's swing back by my place, I'll pull out a toy I think you'd like, and from there we can hit a few rooftops. We'll search smarter, not harder." I throw an arm around Regan's shoulders as we leave; it's a slight reach. "Meandering about hoping to hit someone is a lost cause, but once we know what they want? We know where to look for them. Pity we don't have info on their goals, but that's what investigation is for, right?"

"A pity." Regan uses a second, still-clean handkerchief to wipe down the doorknob as we leave. This apartment complex has rickety outside stairs that are bound to collapse some day. I take a moment to weaken one of the supports after we reach the ground, on principle. "Where would you suggest we begin?"

"Without more to work on than we have? If I had the time, I'd stake out Ylva's pets and see if the two from that picture show up. But I don't have the time, which means we get to hit the streets again."

Back in the car, Regan's quiet for long enough that I know I'm pushing in the right direction. "It's possible this could be related to my own assignment," he says, finally. Score one for unsubtle guilt-tripping. One of the best things about working Regan is that I know his buttons, just like he knows mine. He's been burned before in a job where his commanding officer didn't give him enough information, and he can, if not empathize, at least extrapolate.

"What, the dead schmuck back there, or the Gabrielites we're looking for?"

"Either. Both. It's...complicated. And confidential, you understand."

"Of course I understand. You can't spread military secrets around, even to someone helping you." I don't need to read the body language anymore to know where this is going, so I keep watch on the people we pass as we drive. Just in case. It's not a _large_ city. "I'm on a need-to-know basis." I could play this game more subtly, but I'm pressed for time. "Mind, if I'm going to be finding out at the meeting anyway, keeping secrets in the meantime seems more secretive than necessary."

"A Cherub of Fire," he says. "That's who I'm meeting with."

No, it couldn't have been coincidence to send Regan, a triad, and two Gabrielites into this city at once. I'm not sure if I'm pleased that my theory was correct, or terrified to realize how messy this could get. I'll settle for being pleased, and panic later. "A Cherub. Which is to say, someone who can track down my boss from any of those brands. And the other two in the picture, they're likely to be looking for her, if she's going around meeting with demons." ...shouldn't have slipped with the pronouns, he didn't mention a name or type, but I don't think he'll notice.

"It's possible that they are seeking her, yes. What would you suggest?"

"If they're looking for her... You know more her than I do. Does she want to be found?" Where do Servitors of Gabriel go to look for others of their kind? And where do they go when trying to hide from their own? There's a triad keeping an eye on the traditional courthouse exits where Cherubim of Fire wait for betrayers. Can't just scout out a neighborhood, Edward lived near enough to the second dead body but across the city from the third. Am I dealing with one killer, two, or even three? Three seems unlikely, with such similar modus operandi. Two is possible. I need more data.

"Want to be found? Probably not. We have holds on her that keep that Cherub from calling in outside help. Especially with the amount of dissonance she's acquired by now." Regan chuckles. "Which was none of our doing, but when the opportunity arises... This is all the more entertaining for having been handed the situation by a Servitor of Kobal. I have to wonder what that one's Prince will have to say to her about this, once he finds out."

"How so?" Once Regan starts talking, he won't stop so long as I keep encouraging him. Sweet, sweet information. Nearly as good as destruction, and often more useful.

"One of our Servitors was on surveillance before a mission in the area. And this particular Cherub's been...well. Let's call it careless. With dissonance conditions of that Choir, you'd think she'd have been more cautious about attuning to humans. Or making it clear who those people were." Regan's smile is as sharp as his knife. "To a Kobalite, there's nothing funny about just killing off a Cherub. Killing off a Cherub's attuned, that has potential. Threatening a Cherub's attuned, and when she's run off to rescue that one, killing off the others... Now that's funny."

"Calabite?" It sounds like my Band, and if I find Servitors of Kobal to be strange, even I can see the humor in that setup.

"Got it in one. So our agent in the area removed the known attuned who was still alive, and led the Cherub out of her home territory. Now, it's a matter of making deals."

"How are you keeping her from tracking down the last attuned and killing everything in the way? Or being killed, which is less useful for making deals." I know exactly how I'd do it; get the Cherub was Djinn-touched, and then prepare to destroy the attuned every time the Cherub got within a certain distance. The sudden knowledge of danger to an attuned is as good as a shock collar for training that type of angel to back off.

"That doesn't fall under what you need to know, Leo." So I've pushed a little too far. Still, this is something to work with. "We contacted her recently, and set up the meeting."

"Why wait so long, though? Wouldn't it be more effective to meet as soon as possible, while she's still off-balance from the dissonance she's been hit with?" Pulling her out of her home territory makes sense, from a variety of directions; no friends around to pull her out or lend her aid, keeping her unsettled and uncertain, a chance at more dissonance if she was in the middle of pursuing a target and had to abandon it. But if I'd been in charge of that, I would have jumped in to present her with the meeting as soon as possible. The grief-stricken are easier to push around emotionally than those who have had time to come to terms with their failures. 

"A few reasons," Regan says, and refuses to elaborate, which leaves me coming up with answers of my own through the rest of the ride. Waiting for her to calm down and become amenable to negotiation? Unlikely with any Cherub who's lost attuned. No one can hold a grudge quite like Cherubim. They could push her into more dissonance, but it doesn't sound as if any pushing is going on, only waiting. If it were any other Servitor of War, I might suspect them of setting us up for some reason--Baal and Belial may get along fine, but that doesn't preclude back-stabbing among their Servitors, especially if it helps along some greater goal--but Regan doesn't have the right personality to pull that off. And herding an angel in the right direction to do your dirty work for you is tricky at best.

The door to my apartment is unlocked. I have a dreadful feeling about this.

Saul glances over his shoulder when I come in, but doesn't stand up. "Morning," he says. "I was starting to wonder if you'd be back at all." He raises his cup of coffee--I'm not sure where he got teacups--towards the woman beside him on the couch. "Leo, this is Liberty Canter." 

She stands up to shake my hand. "I've heard so much about you," she says, and I don't trust her for an instant, not with such a friendly smile. She's the sort of woman who can make weekend morning wear look elegant, and what does she see in Saul if his resonance bounced? I don't like it, and I want them out of my apartment.

"Same." I don't squeeze any more firmly than would be considered polite, and meet her eyes when I smile back. "Sorry to interrupt you two. I was just passing through to get a few things. I'll only be a minute."

"Oh, it's no interruption at all." She drops gracefully back down on the couch. Pretty enough for a human that I can see why Saul would head for her; Habbalah are nearly as image-obsessed as Impudites. "We were just discussing this morning's services. Saul's never been to a Mass before, so it's been fascinating to go over the details with someone unfamiliar with the tradition. I do appreciate people who can offer me new perspectives on the familiar and mundane."

The Habbalite perspective on a Catholic Mass, filtered through Saul's continuing fuzzy-headed obsession with pleasing his girlfriend. The mind reels at the very concept. "How interesting," I manage. "I'll have to ask him about that later. If you'll excuse me, though..."

"Oh, don't let me keep you." Neither of them asks me to introduce Regan, but she's certainly watching, as we head down the hallway to the storage room.

I shut the door behind us, and turn on the fan. "I'm going to kill him eventually. I just know it. Maybe not now, maybe not in the near future, but eventually."

"You're sure this is the right apartment? It looked...clean."

"Courtesy of the new roommate, yes. Don't worry, a week after he's moved out it'll look the same as ever." I begin the Tetris-juggling of moving all the boxes in here about to get to the one I want. Nothing in the storage room is easy to access without setting off an avalanche. Anyone touches a thing in here, I'll know. What I want in this case is a pretty toy I'd been considering selling, given how infrequently I've had a chance to use it. Maybe I can convince Regan to pay me for it. I'm sure he'd get more use out of it than I have.

"That's his latest obsession?" Regan allows me to fill his arms with various items as part of the excavation process with no more complaint than a long-suffering expression.

"Yup. I expect I won't see her again once the buzz wears off, but in the meantime? Every other sentence out of his mouth is about that woman. This is _after_ I've started hitting him every time he doesn't shut up for more than two minutes straight. Maybe I should start beating sense into him every time he opens his mouth. Not that I'm sure it would actually help, given current evidence."

"Did they tell you that you couldn't maim him, or only that you couldn't kill him?"

"I like the way you think." The box is still full of packing foam. I push that aside, pull out the weapon, and wrap it in an old shirt. The more protection it has from me, the better. "Heard of the XM-8?"

"...yes. Where did you get one of those?" Regan drops everything in his arms unceremoniously on the floor, no matter that it's mine, and leans over my shoulder to get a better look. "How pretty. Can I have it?" The design's so smooth it looks like a toy instead of a weapon, but as far as function goes... very pretty, yes.

"Thought you might say that." I finish the wrapping, and stuff the whole package into a backpack. Tight fit, but workable, and far less conspicuous than carrying around a case. "I don't have the attachments, so if you want to launch grenades you're shit out of luck. But it does good sniper work, and breaks down for close range. Now, if we can work out a few places up high to watch from, we might have a chance to find out if tall dark and green-flamed is really a blackwing."

"I get to do the shooting."

"No, I get to." I sling the backpack across my shoulders, and grin toothily at him. "You're better at the quick and dirty firefights than I am, but when it comes to sniping? My game. I _like_ distance battles. Besides, you go shoot one of them, you'll feel obliged to stick around. So long as I'm doing the shooting, we can cut and run if we have to."

"How much to let me keep it once we're done with this?"

"You can't afford it," I say, which might or might not be true. "I picked this up from one of your boys, right before I moved here. Did him a few favors, he had a little extra inventory, we worked something out. If I'd known then what this assignment would be like, I would've taken the cash instead." I like cash. People don't ask you explain the presence of twenty dollar bills the way they ask you explain why you suddenly have a reliquary that can store eight Essence, or an experimental battle rifle that isn't in mass production yet.

"You're willing to sell, then."

"Of course. Everything has a price tag. Sometimes the price tag is really long and wordy, or has a lot of zeroes in it."

When we head out through the living room again, Saul's girlfriend waves, and smiles sweetly at us. I don't like how smart she seems. He'd better drop her as soon as this obsession wears off, or I might have to do something about her myself. Intelligent humans tend to be inquisitive, and I don't want inquisitive anywhere near me. Assuming he hasn't already managed to babble enough that we'll need to kill her to be on the safe side. I'll ask enough questions to find out once his head is on....well, as straight as any Habbalite's head ever is.

"Okay, here's the plan," I say, once we're back in the car. "I don't know how you're keeping track of this Cherub, but I'm going to assume you _are_ keeping track of her somehow. The simplest way to make sure we keep these two from meeting with her, if they haven't already, is to stake out where she is. If they know how to find her, we'll see them coming. If they don't, well, you don't have much of a problem, right?"

"You're asking to be taken into a great deal of confidence," Regan says, which means he knows full well how to track down Fire's little lost lamb. (Do Cherubim ever look like sheep in their celestial forms? I've never seen one in its true form, but I've heard of various animals whose shapes they wear. It must be even worse than having a human appearance, to wear an animal's shape.)

"Serpent mine, you were the one who asked for my help. I've already given you confidential information from my Prince's organization to assist you in _your_ project. I am willing to put my own projects on hold to lend you help, but not if you're going to hobble me with incomplete info. Can you track her or are you wasting my time?"

Sometimes I track down people I find using cell phones while driving, and explain the error of their ways to them. But since it's Regan who's pulled out the phone to call a subordinate for tracking data, I think I'll let it slide this one time.


	12. In Which My Hands Get Dirtier

"It's four o'clock," Regan says. "Are you sure they're coming?"

"Of course I'm not sure." This room is a mess, worse because it's not mine, worse again because it stinks, but at least I'm not on a rooftop. Convenient that the occupant should be away all day; a charming Balseraph can get all sorts of information from people. I'm tired of this scope, but neither of us had a good set of binoculars handy. "They could have less idea of how to find her than we do. However, she's not going anywhere, so we're not going anywhere, unless you have a better idea. If you're so bored, you should have packed a book."

"Your collection isn't what I'd call good reading." He's been standing nearly the whole time we've been here, as if sitting down would mean missing something. "What you see in dull stories of dull people, I've never understood."

"Philistine." I scan the entrance to the building across the street. Hardly any pedestrians around here, low traffic this time of day. But it's always possible I blinked at the wrong moment, let myself get distracted. Come on, little angels, show yourselves. "If you think Austen is dull, it's because you fail to see the delightful sarcasm in her stories."

"Sun Tzu didn't 'delightful sarcasm' to be worth reading." Regan folds his arms and leans against the wall, no pretense of helping me watch. "I wonder if he was mortal, or some celestial playing a subtle Role."

"Human. Most people who make it into the history books were. We're not supposed to be that obvious." I pan across the street again. "Oh, look at that, would you."

"What?" Regan spins away from the wall to peer over my shoulder between the slats of the window blinds.

"Car that just passed by. Looking for parking or a person, at the speed they were going. Couldn't say for sure without a better look, but those may be the two we're waiting for. Ready to get un-subtle?"

"I should be the one to do this." One of his hands reaches towards me, twitches away before it touches. Don't poke the sniper, Regan. He bites.

"Your objection is duly noted." I breathe in and out, and time slows down. Never mind long-term goals: for this moment, all that matters is the weapon I hold and what I can point it at.

Two people stroll down the street. One of them only looks human. Likely to have a tougher body than any human, able to endure damage that would kill mortals. Chop off his arms and he'd kick you in the teeth. But I have a tiny bit of metal waiting beneath my hands to move very quickly.

That's the nice thing about angels. They can't do much after their head explodes either.

The woman whirls when he drops, searching for the direction. The building is obvious; the floor, less so. We have time to move if she heads this way. It would be so _easy_ to slide another bullet down there, watch her head dissolve, but I can't risk the disturbance. Yet. It has been explained to me that I ought to practice self control, and so I do. Finger resting on the trigger.

No pedestrians near enough to see or notice, yet. Useful. But a dead body won't escape attention long, even if the gunshot did.

A flicker down there, a celestial form I can't quite see, and then it's another man, vessel coming together around him. "Blackwing," I say, and pull the trigger, but the two of them are moving now, and I only tear a red line across his face. "Time."

By the time we reach the door, I've stowed my toy away again. We step two doors down the hallway, and Regan knocks at 702.

"Oh, you're back," says the woman, an old lady as close to death as these mortals come before they keel over. She blinks up at us with watery eyes, and smiles as she ushers us inside. "I put on the tea, in case you came along again."

"We were hoping you'd consider our proposal more closely," I say, and close the door quickly behind us once she's tottered back far enough to let us in. "But, please, don't let me pressure you into anything! I can understand if you'd like a few days to think about it."

"Oh, no, I don't mind talking at all," she says, and wobbles her way towards the tiny kitchen. Regan moves in to help her with the kettle. "I get so little company these days. It's always nice to see new faces!" She smiles particularly at Regan. "Do you know, you remind me of my brother? My little brother Ben, he had such a way with the young ladies."

"Fascinating," I say, and sit down on the couch between hideous embroidered pillows. "Was he much younger than you, then?"

The walls in this place are thin, and we can hear footsteps pounding through the hallway. 702 is the first apartment on the right, coming from the stairs. A pounding on the door, and the old woman gets unsteadily back to her feet in the middle of her story . "So many visitors today," she says. The knocking doesn't end until she pulls the door open. "Hello?"

"Excuse me," says a smooth voice, female, and I wonder what that woman with the Malakite is. "Did you hear anything just a few minutes ago? Like a gunshot?"

"No," says our host, just as Regan explained to her. She didn't hear anything. "I'm sorry. Maybe it was a television set? The boys in 206 keep it up too loud, but they'll turn it down if you ask nicely. They're good boys. I don't know why they watch such violent programs. The things they put on television these days! Why, I remember--"

"How could you not hear? Did you _see_ anyone?" That voice is male, and far less calm. "Running by, or coming through earlier, or--anyone at all! Strangers, someone with a rifle, any dangerous-looking people..."

"Certainly not," says the old woman, voice quavering towards indignation. "Why, if I saw anything of the sort, I would have called the police. We have a neighborhood watch. It's a good neighborhood, and the people in this building are good folks. I don't like what you're intimating, young man."

"We're sorry to bother you, ma'am," says the woman outside. And, more distantly, "Let's move on."

"People these days." The door shuts as firmly as her strength allows, more of a thud than a slam. "Oh, I don't mean _you_ two, you're perfectly nice young men, but I wonder, is it all that violent television that does this? Maybe that's why people carry on. Running around covered in blood, talking about men with rifles! I have half a mind to call the police right now."

"I'm sure there's no need." I take a sip from my teacup since she's looking at me, and force a smile, despite the taste. "Perhaps they just aren't raised right. Why, back home, I was taught to respect my elders."

Regan dissolves into a coughing fit. I reach over to thump him on the back helpfully. "Probably something went down the wrong windpipe," I explain, and the old woman clucks sympathetically, offers us more tea.

It's several more minutes of highlights from World War II--the boring part, involving sugar rationing--before the footsteps pound down the hallway again, and the staircase's door clatters shut. "Oh," I say, weighting the word with disappointment. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have to get going for another appointment. We've been here longer than planned. I hate to go, but..."

"Oh," she says, face falling, but lets us move to the door. "Feel free to come by again. I'd be happy to look more closely at your...what were you selling, young man?"

"Estate planning services," I say, and admire the way Regan turns his farewell handshake into something like a bow. "We'll come again. Good afternoon."

In the stairwell, we pause by the door, listening to footsteps heading up. "Feeling lucky?" I ask quietly.

"So you're asking yourself. Does that Malakite have two vessels, or three?" Regan grins at me. "I'm feeling lucky."

"You were feeling lucky with the Mercurian," I say, but follow him. (He ignores my comment entirely.) We can pass as two friends meandering up the stairs instead of the elevator, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Up until the Malakite starts looking too closely. I'm curious: what would an angel consider my most honorable and dishonorable acts? Or is it what I believe about my own honor that shows up? Malakim don't Fall, so there are no ex-Malakim in Hell to ask for details.

The stairwell is muggy and odiferous. We wait on the landing beside the door they went through, the clatter of knocking echoing down the hall. "Stupid," I say. "If they don't get an answer, they move on. Should have left one of the two watching at unanswered doors, or not bothered at all. What do they think this is going to do?"

"Hoping to spook someone into running? Or maybe they have a third we don't know of watching the exit. To see who runs out while they're shaking down the area."

I look up the stairs above us. No one coming down. "Fair warning, this is going to get _noisy_ once I start shooting, no matter what that woman is." I unzip the backpack, and disassemble my toy. Take off the back piece, and it's a compact carbine I can wave around one-handed. Not so great on the accuracy, but still cheerfully vicious against anything in its ammunition's way. "Forensics will have fun working out where these bullets came from. Top or bottom?"

"Always top." Regan smirks at me, and backs up the stairs, while I move down a few steps. Anyone looking through the smeared window on the door will see an empty landing.

Footsteps pound down the hallway, one set stomping and the other only brisk. If the woman is human, she's remarkably calm about all this. How does Gabriel choose her Soldiers? Maybe they have to be as insane as her Servitors, to follow an Archangel like that. Or maybe we're dealing with two Malakim, and we're in serious trouble.

I shift to the three-round burst firing mode, and wait for the door to move.

Even expecting it, the door surprises me when it slams open. I'm aiming at the man's head height, but the woman steps through first. Three rounds into his shoulder, right over her head, not quite as effective as I'd hoped. Means they both look at me, the woman pulling out a gun faster than I could, and the Malakite's hands light up in green flames. Regan's bullets hit the back of the woman's head while she's pulling the trigger on her own gun.

Taking a bullet in my chest is never fun. At least there's no disturbance as she staggers forwards towards me, eyes suddenly wide. The Malakite shouts in a language I don't know, there's going to be way too many people watching in about thirty seconds, but I'm dealing with dodging a near-dead vessel pitching forward at me and have no time to worry about that.

Or not dodging. She's still alive, no matter that the back of her head is a pulpy mess and the gun's fallen from her hands. All I can do not to fall flat on my back while she lurches against me, stumbling backwards downstairs blind to whatever might be to the rear. Her mouth opens, but there's no words there, only blood dribbling over her lips.

My back hits the wall, and she's still--I don't _know_ what she's doing, but if I wanted to deal with the lurching half-dead, I'd work for Saminga. I slam her with my resonance, shove her away to roll down the next flight of stairs. No time to watch that body rolling, because Regan has a Malakite to deal with upstairs.

Green hands of flame versus a sword. I'm not sure where Regan got a sword from; maybe it's the sort tricked out to be concealed in spaces too small to hold it. Time's running out, and this is turning messier than I intended. Let's hope no one here calls the cops. Regan's more than happy to be playing, vicious little smile, but we don't have time for games.

"Hey, blackwing," I say, and drop another three-bullet burst into his vessel. He jerks, but that's it. Figures that his backup vessel would be the tough one. Throw out a burst of entropy--

\--and he shrugs it off, I have destruction hovering in potentia, I have do _something_ with it. Let it slam into the walls, then, cover us with a burst of plaster and paint chips, insulation and wiring twisting from it. The lights in the stairwell snap off. We're left with the light from the dirty window to the hallway, and those flames in his hands.

"Freak," he snarls. Not the most polite name for my Band.

"You called?" I feel my way backwards in the dark, fire again, but the rattle of disturbance says I hit the wall behind him. He's only a shadowy outline in the dark, aside from his hands. Has no one ever heard of putting proper windows in stairwells for outages? Or emergency lighting? Even I know better, and I design lousy buildings on purpose.

"Want to burn?" Not a good sign that he can talk to me while Regan's trying to kill him. But the Balseraph has more reason to worry about his hands than I do.

"If you want to give it a try." Forget trying to shoot straight in the dark; I make my way back up the stairs, stepping around the dead vessel that I pushed down.

One burning hand grabs out at me, and I...let it. Let him yank me in until I'm face-to-chest with him, as cooperative as I ever am with angels, and shoot where I _know_ he is. Fire doesn't hurt me, courtesy of a gift from my Prince, and his hands are nothing more than hands on me. Once he figures this out, he can try another approach. Right now, I'm the man with the gun.

He does figure it out. By then he has a sword in the gut and three more bullets through his neck. Once he's down on the ground, we can work our way through even a tough vessel.

Regan curses steadily while I pack away the gun. Sirens approach outside. "Shut up and start thinking," I say. "You need to do some fast talking to get us out of this. And I need to get healed. Got a hole straight through me, and it hurts."

We meet the first officer at the bottom of the stairs, and I keep my head down, fall back to the rear of our little pair. Regan smiles to the man with the drawn gun, and begins to talk. He's better than I am at killing things with weapons, has more training in combat, knows tactics, works for the War, but he's at his most dangerous when he's talking. Let a Balseraph explain things to you, and suddenly everything makes his kind of sense.

I keep behind Regan while he Balseraphs his way from officer to officer, explaining How It Happened and Who We Are until every one of them is convinced we're undercover, got into a nasty fight with three...I don't think he ever specifies what sort of criminals they were, but it's quite clear they were doing Bad Things and of course Had To Be Stopped. I love having a Balseraph for a girlfriend, I really do. "Nice work," I murmur, when I can collapse into the passenger seat of the car again. "You're so good at that."

"It's hardly my fault if people choose to make incorrect assumptions based on my explanations of events," Regan says, and I can see now that we're in good lighting that not all the blood on him is someone else's. That, and the charred stretch on one arm where the Malakite hit him.

When the triad finds out about this, they're going to kill me.

If I don't let them know where Esh-ban is, now that I know, they're going to kill me.

If I don't contact them at all, they're going to track me down, find out all of the above, and kill me.

"Regan? Move that meeting up. Make whatever excuses are necessary, but someone's going to notice that angel in Trauma, and the Malakite will get another vessel. I don't know how long it will take, or when they'll send backup. But it's time to act quickly."

"You have a point." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a bloody smudge on his forehead. It's adorable, endearing, and a reminder of how filthy we've both managed to become. Only a Balseraph could get a deposit back from the rental company when the car gets back to them in this condition. "I'll see if I can reschedule to Monday, or Tuesday. Can you get that Lilim by then?"

I'd almost forgotten about the need to pull Erica in on all this. "Should be able to. I don't suppose anyone you're working with knows Corporeal Healing?"

His lips press thin. "No."

"Last I checked, you don't know it. I don't. Which means...we're going to need to ask Ylva. That or walk around damaged,with who knows what still roaming the city." I close my eyes, and try to ignore the building headache. "I hate asking my boss for favors. She's going to take this out of my hide. Or my paycheck, and I don't know which is worse."

"Probably the paycheck. Your skin will heal on its own." His hands move restlessly on the steering wheel. "He didn't have a third vessel."

"Or chose not to use it, preferring to return later with companions... I don't know. I hate not knowing." I wish I had a way of figuring out what's really going on, like Seraphim read the truth or Lilim read needs. Never enough information.

It's a small favor that the commercial district is deserted on Sunday afternoons. Regan and I make it to the office without passing anyone who'd asking questions, and then it's straight down the hallway to Ylva's office. I rap on the door.

"Come in," she barks. So she's not dead yet. I'm glad. Sort of.

We stagger in, and the boss boggles at our state for a moment before sinking back into Djinnish apathy. "What happened to you? And who's that?"

"Ylva, meet Regan. An old friend. Works for the War." Which is to say, yes, boss, we're supposed to lend him a hand, and not kill him unless it's important. "Remember that problem you told me about yesterday? With the Servitors of Fire? We don't have that problem anymore. Incidentally, the first one is a Malakite. That's less useful information now that the vessel is gone, unless it tries to pick up its last Role with a matching one." 

She says, after a moment, "It took you long enough." That's nearly a compliment, from her.

I dig into the back of my jeans, and pull out the bloody handkerchief-wrapped bundle to drop on her desk. "Also, the other matter you sent me after. I'd like to get back to working on that big project. You know, the one that's coming due on Saturday? That we're behind on and still trying to solve the holes in? That one." I would like to sit down, as my chest throbs horribly when I stand, but I need the slight psychological advantage of height. "If you would heal us, that would be...useful."

"No disturbance in the office," Ylva says, studying Regan, as if she's trying to figure out how much trouble this Balseraph will be. From experience, I'd say lots. But it's usually worth it.

"If you'd prefer that we parade in and out of this place bleeding from violent wounds, I can do that, boss. Do you really think that's less conspicuous than careful use of Essence here?"

She could out-stubborn me any day, but she wants us out of this office. And I think I've done what she asked faster than she expected. Healing happens, and she makes it clear she'd rather not be touching me. Less so with Regan; I'm not sure if that's because of his natural charm, more attractive vessel, or non-subordinate position. I don't try to understand how her mind works further than necessary to work for her.

Back to Holly's phone. I get the feeling that it'll need replacing soon. I call up Saul's cell.

"Hello, what is it?" He sounds...distracted. All the better.

"Saul? It's Leo. I need you to grab me a change of clothes from the apartment, and bring it by the office." I match Regan's height against Saul's. Not perfect, but a better match than mine. "A change of your clothes, too. Don't drag anyone along. And hurry, okay? Because if you don't, I'll find really creative ways to interpret not being allowed to kill you."

"But I'm--"

"Don't want to hear it. If you think it's an excuse so good I'll accept it, explain when you get here." I slam the cut-off button on the phone harder than I probably should, and then set the receiver down at a reasonable speed. "Between that and the sink in the bathroom... Neither of us is going to look neat and trim, but we shouldn't draw horrified looks. If you drop me off at my apartment, I can put things away while you go do your planning."

"Or you could come back to the hotel with me," Regan says.

"No." I'll schedule time later to curse myself for being too responsible. "You have private matters to arrange, and we need to keep moving. Can't have me hanging over your shoulder while you're going that." And if the triad tracks me down to say hello, I don't want to lead them back to him. "Stop by the office tomorrow. Tell me then what the game plan is."

"You're probably right." He sounds disappointed. I'll take that as a compliment.


	13. In Which I Hate Everyone I Meet, But Not Equally

It's never hard to find Erica when I want to, which isn't often. She has four preferred haunts, so I work my way through them until I see her. Tonight she's at the club where fifty dollars presented with your ID means they don't care if you look fourteen years old. Not my sort of place to hang out, but they're not picky about who to let in on a slow Sunday night.

I track her down at a booth with her Servant, a man who looks like most people expect Calabim to. Tall, muscled, vicious cast to his features. Dumber than a box of burnt fuses. I slide into the seat across from her, ignore his glare. "Erica. Let's talk business."

"Let's." She turns a girlish smile on the man. "Baby, would you go have a conversation those guys in the corner? They've been giving me funny looks all night, I don't want stalkers." He slouches away, and her smile is much sharper when she turns it on me. "Sunglasses at night? So not your style."

"Just trying to fit in." Even when Lilim can't fulfill your needs and hook you for them, they can blackmail you with what they see. Some of the things I need right now shouldn't be public knowledge. Last thing I want is the Game breathing down my neck over dealing with angels, which I maintain is not my fault. "Interested in making easy cash? It's a job that suits your talents."

"That's supposed to be my line, sweetheart." She giggles, gaze no less sharp than before. "What has you looking for my help? Someone in town who needs to be wined, dined, and fucked properly?"

"Not those talents. There's a business deal being made, and we want to be sure everyone who signs the contract goes through with their part of the bargain. All you have to do is enforce the promise each side makes." Regan has a weird personal honor, to let himself be geased into holding down his side of the bargain. This makes me none too happy, but he's a grown Balseraph, and can make his own stupid decisions. "We can pay you a fair price for showing up and taking those promises. And not talking about it afterward."

"Well, that's two favors, Leo. Three, if you count each Geas separately." She leans over the table towards me, and I catch a whiff of the perfume she's using. A hint of talcum powder to the scent. "Two sides of the contract, and then my promise not to talk about what happened. And your Prince isn't cozy with mine. Why should I do this for you?"

"Because you want the money. Unless you don't, in which case, I can track down someone else." Buy the bluff, please buy it...

"If you knew of any other Lilim around, you'd be asking her already, not me. Which means I get to dictate terms. I like that." She taps one finger on her lips. No lipstick or any other makeup, which makes her look all the younger and more innocent. "How long will it take?"

"Maybe an hour. All we need you for is to lay on the Geases, after people agree to terms. It would be during the day. Unlikely to interfere with your business."

"How badly do you need this?" She's leaning almost close enough to touch me; I edge back out of reach. "Sounds like you're in a hurry."

"I don't need this at all, Erica. I'm brokering this deal as a favor to a friend. If you're going to ask ridiculous prices, he can do without your help."

"You're a lousy negotiator, and no fun to barter with." She slouches back on her side of the table, and pouts at me before breaking into giggles. "I'm just teasing. Stop looking so annoyed. It's not Thursday, right? I'm busy Thursday."

"Monday, Tuesday at the latest. What do you want?"

"That's an impolite question to ask one of the Daughters. But what I consider a fair trade for this service..." Her gaze travels up and down my face, the way she'd consider a prospective customer's financial stability. "Twenty-five grand, and an hour from you to regain a little Essence."

"Thirty grand, and a firm no on the second clause. Why would you want to roll a slob like me anyway? You need the Essence, you can jump your Servant." She doesn't need a pimp to protect her, but when I bothered to ask, she said, all the other girls have one, why shouldn't she?

"Because I haven't. You're not so much a slob as untidy in your wardrobe. Which hardly matters when you're naked, does it?" She walks her fingers across the table to me, and smirks when I pull my hands out of reach. "Tell your friend you're paying me the thirty, keep five of it for yourself, and...call it half an hour. It's not a bad deal."

My girlfriend is wearing a male vessel, I'm being blackmailed by a triad of Judgment, and a Lilim of Andrealphus has offered to pay me five thousand dollars for half an hour of sex. There is something dreadfully wrong with the world this week. But I'm not about to screw someone I hate for the money, least of all when I don't know what sort of abilities her Prince has given her for messing with people she has sex with. "You have a funny idea of bargaining, if that's what you call your proposal. Do you want the thirty grand or don't you?" 

"Such a sweet-talker. I'll take it." She pulls an eyebrow liner out from somewhere. "Give me your hand, I'll write out my number so that you can call me to work out the time."

I slide a dollar bill across the table to her instead. "Less likely to smear."

"My, but you _are_ being paranoid tonight. What has you twitchy?" She prints out her number on the dollar, and dangles it in front of me. "You need to get laid. Your job is stressing you out."

"Funny you should say that. My girlfriend's in town this week, she's the jealous sort."

"Regan's out of Trauma? What does that psycho bitch want this time?" Erica stops, and her eyes go wide. It makes her vessel look even younger. "Wait a minute, is that the friend who needs--oh, I am _not_ getting involved in anything that has to do with her Prince."

"What, now you're going back on what you said?" I snatch away the dollar bill, memorize the number, and stuff it back into my pocket.

"You didn't say she was involved."

"You didn't ask." She may be able to throw me across the room, but she's not great with the forethought. All the better for me.

Erica folds her arms. "I didn't promise anything formal."

"True enough. And, hey, you're not _obliged_ to keep a deal if you didn't geas yourself to it. Bit of a disappointment when a Lilim won't keep to her informal agreements, but what can I do about that? Beyond letting people know."

"You bastard." It's not nearly as adorable coming from her as it is from Regan. "Fine. I'll show up, I'll do the deal-binding, and I won't talk, but I don't want to be involved in _any_ of this. I don't even want to hear about it, understand? The War's games aren't any of my business, and my business had better not be fucked up by what they're doing."

"Believe me, we'll all be happier the less you're involved. If you know any other Daughters in town, I can make an offer to someone else. You're right that I'm only asking you for lack of a better choice."

"Whatever." She can sulk as well as any teenager. "You still owe me, you know."

"And how could I forget?" I slide out from the booth. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Erica." That's nearly true when I can leave her this disgruntled. Whenever she calls in that Geas she holds on me, it won't be pretty. But that was always going to be true.

This club has plenty of back doors and side doors. A few go through the basement to other buildings entirely, I've heard, but I've never been down there to find out. I take a back-alley exit, the better to get a quiet spot to vent my frustration on walls that can take battering. It's a relief to take off the stupid sunglasses and be able to see...about as well as anyone can, in a dark alley.

I like dark alleyways. They reek, but they're a good place to disappear in the shadows without being obvious about it, blow off steam in a place no one will notice the destruction, or have a little chat with a human who can't grasp the rules of traffic and the pedestrian's right of way.

I like alleyways less when they acquire such inhabitants as these.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again," I say. Cherub behind me, Seraph in front, Ofanite wandering back and forth between the two. This will be...tricky. But I've worked out a few phrases ahead of time. If I'm very careful, and they're distracted, I might live through this. "To cover the obvious: I haven't seen her, I don't know where she is right now, and if you wanted me dead, you could have just killed me instead of not mentioning there was a Malakite in the city. Was he looking for her too?"

"You encountered a Malakite?" The Seraph is trying for a poker-face, and not making it. "How did you deal with it?"

"How do you think I dealt with it? Believe me, when we got face to face he wasn't trying to have a reasonable chat. As for the other one, I'd like to point out that she shot me before I so much as touched her."

A strangled noise behind me, from the Cherub, and then a looming presence over my shoulder. "What did you _do_ to them?"

"The Malakite is out two vessels. I assume the other one is in Trauma, though for all I know she was a Malakite as well." I close my eyes for a moment, let my voice turn bitter. "I'd have preferred to not have them in the city at all. But once they were trying to kill me, I started running out of choices."

"We should kill you now ourselves," says the Cherub, a whisper in my ear. "Do you have any reason why we shouldn't?"

"Because you want me to keep looking?" I shrug. And swallow, can't help that my mouth's dry. "I figure you'll kill me at the end of this either way. But if you'd told me they were here..." Let them fill in that sentence how they want. Or ask.

"You managed this by yourself?" The Ofanite steps lightly by me. "A Malakite twice, and...the other?" So the second one wasn't a Malakite, much as I suspected, but they're not telling me what she was. Fair enough. Not a Kyriotate, but I couldn't say much beyond.

"Not by myself, no."

"Who was assisting you?" Such a flat voice the Seraph has. I think he's angry at me, and the Cherub certainly is. I don't know what the Ofanite thinks. I'm not sure it matters. That's two votes out of three for killing me.

"I don't intend to go around passing out the names of others, Most Holy." He blinks when I call him that, but if they want to address me as a Destroyer, I know other names for them as well. "Did you know that your Cherub has been killing more humans? Three already, by my count. You've already seen one of them, the last time we met. What exactly is running around in my city?"

"It's not your city," says the Cherub.

"It's where I live, and you've made her my business."

The Seraph takes a step closer to me, stares down. "Not entirely true, Destroyer. What else drew you to look into this matter?"

I'm not so much walking a fine line as dangling from the edge of a cliff. But I'd rather direct their ire towards Ylva than Regan, given the choice. "Three humans dead. Two of them worked for my boss. She's not happy about this." Let them assume that's who was helping me against the Malakite if they'd like to.

"I see." He blinks three times, the way Regan does when considering a particularly frustrating puzzle. "Does she have others working for her who you believe would be in danger?"

"If the Cherub is focusing on that, and not stumbling across two by coincidence? Yes." Ylva is going to kill me if she ever finds out about this. "I realize that Servitors of Gabriel are half insane to start with, but this much indiscriminate murder seems a touch on the noisy side even for them, doesn't it?"

The Seraph makes a small gesture, but I don't think it's answer to my question. Which was rhetorical anyway; the noise made by angels of Fire on a rampage only interests me so far as it gives me warning to get out of the way. Right now, I'd really like to get out of the way. If I were a gambler, I'd lay bets on which of my boss's pets will bite it next.

Even if they're not talking, I think they're arguing. A conversation of expression and gesture, completely over my head. And finally the Cherub shoves me forward. "Go home," she says.

"Okay." My best guess is that I get to play bait. What fun. "See you all later."

I don't bother looking back when I leave them. They know where I live, they know how to find me.

My apartment doesn't look like it's mine, not when it's this clean. And occupied. "So where's the girlfriend?"

Saul shrugs. Keeps his gaze locked on the coffee table, which is empty, shiny, uninteresting. I'm not used to seeing a Habbalite mope. Rage, yes. Dissolve into soppy waves of adoration at someone, yes. Sulk... Not so often. But I've been working from a small data set. "So it wore off." I drop down beside him on the couch. "That's the breaks, kid. Your Band gets a handy resonance, you get unpleasant side-effects. Keeps things as fair as anything in life."

"I'm not a demon," he snaps, and wipes his nose on the back of his arm.

"Right, your Choir's resonance. Whatever." Sounds like everyone's had a beautiful day. I think that if a team of Malakim burst through the front door right now, we might both appreciate an end to our misery.

"The boss called," he says. "Message for you." He sniffles, not as discreetly as he thinks he's being. "Said the shipment arrived, and that you need to get to work. That you can borrow Carlos if you need to, but no one else."

"Did she?" Somewhere in the midst of dealing with angels and Regan and dead bodies, I nearly forgot that I have a job. Life would be simpler if Ylva had been content to let us continue working on our ordinary Roles making shoddy buildings, instead of getting creative. Simpler still if I had the authority to tell her to do it herself and stay out of it entirely.

Prioritize, Leo.

I stand up, drag Saul along with me. "We have work to do. More precisely, _you_ have work to do. Stop sniveling and listen. I don't want to trust this to your dubious level of competence, but I'm running out of options here, and it's marginally better than letting Carlos do it himself."

"Whatever that little monkey can do, I can do better," Saul snarls, and there's the spark I was looking for.

"Great. Look, your first responsibility. A leadership position, even. You're moving up in the world now." In the storage room, I dig out the box of parts that I keep in the back, drop it into his arms. "Has Ylva told you where the warehouse is?"

"...no?"

"Right. I'll tell you how to find it, and you'd better listen closely, because I'm not going with you." Back in the living room, I point at the couch, and he sits obediently. Good. I break open the box. "None of this works. I've been handling it too often for that. But I'm going to show you how to put things together, and you're going to watch, and then you're going to show me you know how. You'll need to teach him all of this yourself."

"Why?" He watches my hands as I begin to assemble the pieces. That's something.

"How much of an explanation do you want?" I finish with the first part, and hold it up in front of him. "Okay, this bit's the easiest part, but important, so if you don't want to end up dead, pay attention. Once you're finished, and set everything to go, this is _live_. Ever heard of a dead man's switch?"

"Let go, it works as a trigger?"

"Right. And you can't take it too far away from what it's sending a signal to, or there goes the signal, and boom happens. Which is only good if we _want_ it to happen. So once everything's set up, you don't finish that last bit until I call you and let you know."

"So who holds the switch? Carlos? Or the fall guy?"

"Depends." I'd prefer Carlos. He knows too much for my tastes, and if the Cherub tries torturing information out of someone instead of butchering them outright, he's a liability. But he also knows enough about this whole project to have a chance of noticing that where I want him to stand is going to leave him a messy bloodstain under the rubble. "Carlos will have to set everything up, but..." Bad idea, it's a bad idea, but I _like_ it. "Forget getting someone else in. We can work with just Carlos, so long as we start early. What I need you to do is install new locks on that basement and start setting up now. I want everything ready by Wednesday."

"But I thought you didn't it need it until Saturday." He's confused, not suspicious. Good. I don't want to explain what's going on, and coming up with a plausible lie would be difficult at this point.

"Plans change. There's too much happening lately for us to risk missing our window. Can you do this?"

"I think I can," he says, and then, as if I'm going to smack him for that phrasing, "I mean--"

"No, that works. Thinking is an excellent skill to build. Try to do it once in a while." I pull the pieces apart and start over. "Tomorrow we'll head out earl. Drop me off a few blocks away from work, and grab Carlos before he leaves his place. Don't come back to the office until you hear otherwise from me or Ylva. Now watch."

Saul hunches over next to me, as I go through the steps. So much to do, so little time. Maybe I'll be lucky and get shot before this progresses much further.


	14. An Interlude, In Which All Heaven Breaks Loose

"He lied to us," said Hakupha, ducking under the police tape that blocked off so much of the staircase. "The two bodies in here fit his story, but the one outside? This was no fight he stumbled into by accident."

"Partial truths. He's been careful," said Dothan, distantly. The two of them watched the Ofanite as she paced out positions, examined the markings left behind by the police. "The Elohite did fire on him before he attempted to harm her. When they met face to face, the Virtue was already angry. That he neglected to mention what had happened to the Malakite's first vessel..."

"Demons lie." Ruhamah touched the place on the wall where bullets had hit. "As do some angels. None of us are shocked that he'd spin things, Most Holy. I would like to know why he'd seek out these two, if it was no chance meeting. It seems...atypical."

"You're surprised he'd take the chance to kill them?" Hakupha snorted, and didn't move far from Dothan. "He's a Destroyer. He destroys. We should have stayed closer, though, so that when I knew he was in danger, we could have interfered. It might have made a difference."

"And what kind of difference..." The Ofanite shook her head. "If we wanted him dead, we could do that ourselves at any time. No, the curious thing is that he'd go looking for trouble. Perhaps he's less of a coward than I thought. It's a pity we don't have a Power with us, or an Intercessionist to read out his connections." She stepped away from the wall. "Three round bursts. Heavier weaponry than I would have predicted."

"One of these was a Power, and you can see how well _that_ turned out." The Cherub paced as restlessly as any Wheel, keeping her triad-mates close under her gaze. "I want to know what his supervisor is. I'd think a Djinn or Shedite, if she's maintaining a stable of mortal servants."

"Or an Impudite." Ruhamah rocked on her heels in front of the wall, fingers brushing lightly over each mark in front of her. "We ought to pay a visit to the place where he works, tomorrow. She might be there as well. Demons frequently don't trust their subordinates to go far without supervision, and if his roommate is subordinate to him, and seems to work in the same place... It would be convenient, if we could find all of them in one place. From that point, if Esh-ban really is stalking his master's pets, we only need to identify and watch those."

"I do not like the idea of using innocent humans as bait," said Dothan.

"Likely none too innocent, Most Holy. But it's not optimal." Hakupha considered the options they'd been given. "We may be able to have him introduce us as agents of the Game, and speak with his supervisor directly."

"I will not masquerade as a Servitor of that Prince," Dothan snapped. And added, after a moment, "Unless the Most Just should require that I do so. But this seems unlikely."

"Quite unlikely." The Ofanite stepped back from the wall. "The point remains, we've been given an opportunity to track down the Outcast that'll be easiest to follow on if we can identify these servants she may be stalking." She stopped, and shuddered. "A poor choice of words on my part. I'm still assuming she hasn't Fallen. Even the Servitors of Fire wouldn't try to keep that a secret from us."

"We could ask the Destroyer directly," Hakupha began, and then broke off as a tall man snapped into view in front of them. "Oh, _damn_ ," she muttered.

A sturdy man appeared beside the first one, then a short woman dressed for a much colder climate, a dainty child with cold eyes, a woman so composed of neutral tones and average appearance one would have been hard pressed to describe anything about her at all. With eight people clustered inside the taped-off area, there was barely room to move.

"It would seem you've acquired another vessel, Virtue," said Dothan. "And brought along friends." He inclined his head slightly. "This is not necessary. As we indicated earlier, your assistance is not required in this matter."

"Why should we care what the hyenas of Heaven want?" said the child, and sneered up at him. "You're no friend of Fire. Get out of their affairs and let us do the job you still haven't managed."

"War and Fire, together again. How charming," Ruhamah said, and matched the child's sneer with a glittering smile. "Are you here to find Esh-ban, or are you packing for a demon hunt? Try to keep your priorities straight."

"I'd like to know what your priorities are," said the tall man who'd first appeared. The Malakite of Fire they'd spoken to before, in an identical vessel to the last. His gaze swept over the three of them, and his eyes narrowed. "And why your Guardian's most dishonorable act of late has been to not kill a demon. Who are you dealing with? Are you even trying to find Esh-ban, or are you playing some other game?"

"I don't think five people are required to track down a colleague," Ruhamah said, slipping out between strips of tape to give herself more space to move. "Or have you come to kill her? I would hope that you'd let us know if she'd Fallen."

"You're not answering my questions."

"And you haven't answered ours either," said Dothan. "What killed you, and why have you brought so many others with you upon returning?" To the Malakite's disgusted look, he added, "Even if you intend to search out your killer without us, it would be unwise to conceal that information from us. For a variety of reasons."

"Though it would be like them to get someone else killed for lack of information so that they could feel smug about it," Hakupha muttered. And quieted under a brief gesture from Dothan.

"As I heard it," said the woman who'd appeared third, taking off a heavy jacket awkwardly amidst so many people, "Joshu and Robin were tracking down a good lead on Esh-ban's location when someone shot Joshu's first vessel, from this building. When they came in to investigate, they got jumped." She gave the glowering Malakite a wry smile. "This will work faster if we share some information, no matter how much you'd rather cling to your pride. Besides, stubborn pride is supposed to be a trait of War, not Fire. You want to give them the same description you gave us?"

Joshu did not appear to want to do anything of the sort. But he finally said, "There were two of them, both in adult male vessels. I only got a good look at one of them, as the lights went out shortly after we came through the door. The one I was fighting with shot Robin in the head before she even saw him. Tall, dark-haired, mid-twenties..." He grimaced. "I was distracted by trying to kill him, you see. I wasn't trying to memorize facial features. Not a Shedite, or I would have heard disturbance when I cut him. Maybe a Balseraph, judging by vessel alone. I didn't notice any attempts to use a resonance on me. He was fast, and kept me more occupied than I'd expected. The other I barely saw before the lights went out. That was the one using a weapon I couldn't recognize. Probably a Servitor of Fire; he didn't react when I hit him with my flames."

"Why have you brought in so many companions?" Dothan made a few brief notes about what they'd been told, and then another note to see how certain people reacted when he began writing.

"We thought she'd panicked," Joshu said. "If she stumbled into dissonance so fast as to go Outcast without even realizing it, who could blame her for that? We meant to speak with her, help her out of trouble. But if there are demons staking out where she's been lately... That changes things. We don't know if she's been kidnapped, if she's being blackmailed, or what."

"So you propose to sweep in, kill all the demons in the area, and then deal with her afterwards?" Ruhamah asked. Grinned at the way four of them glared at her. "I'm not objecting to that, mind. Only pointing out that as plans go, it could stand some refining."

"She's hardly been kidnapped if she's running around killing people," Hakupha said. "Maybe she's working for demons already. You could charge in trying to save her and find she doesn't want to be saved."

"I'm sure you'd like to believe that," said the nondescript woman. "You'd like nothing better than to have an excuse to kill her here and not bother with a trial, wouldn't you? Less paperwork, and you wouldn't have to try to understand."

Ruhamah's smile turned into something more fixed than natural. "Actually, the paperwork would be--"

"Why are we even waiting here?" Joshu snapped. "We're wasting our time dealing with the likes of you. Stay out of our way, and we'll bring Esh-ban home ourselves."

"Back to Heaven for her trial," Hakupha said. "Even you must be able to see that--"

"A trial? So that you can feel more justified when you pronounce her guilty?" 

"If she's as innocent as you claim, what are you so afraid of?"

"You couldn't recognize innocent if it ran up and _bit_ you--"

"Spoken like someone serving an Archangel who's certifiably insane--"

Dothan gave up on the discreet gestures, and shot a look at Ruhamah. Who promptly stomped on Hakupha's foot. "That was unnecessary, Guardian," she murmured, loudly enough for the others to hear.

The Malakite whirled about and stalked down the stairs, his dramatic exit flawed by the need to duck around police tape on the way. "Let's go. We don't need their permission to find her."

"Right with you," said the child-vesseled angel. "If we can't beat a pack of hyenas to her, what are we doing calling ourselves Malakim?"

A moment later, only the triad was left in the stairwell, and the woman holding the heavy jacket. "Sorry," she said, and shrugged at Dothan's acidic expression. "Okay, not very, but I tried. Stone doesn't have anything against your Archangel, but you're not the ones we're charged with helping. Good luck on finding her."

"If she returns to Heaven, there will be a trial," Dothan said.

"Maybe so. Not my concern right now. Getting her out of whatever situation she's in, taking out a few demons..." The Servitor of Stone stepped between the police tape. "I need to go catch up with the others. If it's any comfort, I'll remind them to keep things quiet."

When the stairwell had cleared, Hakupha coughed nervously, under the glares from her triad-mates. "...it's true," she said.

"You don't call someone's Archangel insane to their face! No matter how much you believe it!" Ruhamah paced tight circles around the two of them. "What part of 'shut up' were you not understanding? Or were you not watching either of us for signs at all? The whole point of having a team is so that you don't go running off wildly."

"They weren't going to listen anyway," Hakupha said. "All their biases laid out before they even saw us, they weren't listening--"

"We didn't need them to listen! We needed them to cooperate for long to get what information the Virtue might have acquired before he got shot, and--" The Ofanite took a deep breath. "Guardian, it is not your responsibility to defend the honor of the Most Just. Public relations? Not our job. Yes, they believe things which are untrue. Yes, they will claim these things. Yes, they won't listen to protestations to the contrary. So what did you hope to accomplish by arguing the point?"

"...I don't know," Hakupha said, finally. "I'm sorry." She pressed a fist up against her mouth for a moment. "I'm...trying to be more patient. I'll try harder."

"There are rooms in the Celestial Tribunal," Dothan said, "with excellent sound-proofing, where one can go and privately express one's frustrations with unreasonable angels. At great volume." He sighed faintly. "I intend to make use of them after this assignment, and I would recommend that you remember this when frustration threatens to overwhelm you. This is not an appropriate time or place to express yourself. We have an assignment. Personal reactions must not take priority."

"It's four in the morning, we're standing in the middle of a crime scene, and five disgruntled angels of traditionally violent Words have just walked into the city with mayhem on their minds," Ruhamah said. "Let's get somewhere private, and work out how we want to proceed. Hakupha, where's our unwilling little informant?"

The Cherub closed her eyes. "Direction and distance suggest his apartment. He doesn't seem to be moving. My knowledge of his location puts him in enough danger that I can't pick out other threats that might exist, but he's not in _immediate_ danger." She opened her eyes again, and shrugged. "We could stop by and beat a few details out of him. Press hard enough, and he might give us more information."

"Or we might lead a pack of Malakim into his apartment, and get neither information nor bait. I, for one, would rather not deal with more accusations of dealing with demons." Ruhamah shrugged uncomfortably for the accuracy of the accusations, and looked to Dothan. "Your judgment, Most Holy?"

"We need more time to consider our options. We will contact him again during the day." Dothan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Ruhamah, could you find us a hotel with well sound-proofed rooms? Just in case."


	15. In Which, Contrary To What I Would Have Thought Possible, The Situation Deteriorates

When we head out at six, Saul is still mumbling the steps of putting together the basic detonation triggers under his breath. I settle back in the car to consider my options. One less thing to worry about, and an ace in the hole. There's nothing like having an entire building ready to drop on someone for an escape clause, though as weapons go it's hard to aim. As the age-old question goes, if you had a flamethrower the size of a bus, the scorch marks would be impressive, but how would you point it at anyone?

...this is not the time to dream about how to mount a flamethrower that large to a maneuverable vehicle. Besides, mechanical engineering isn't my field. I'll leave the weapons R&D to Vapula's mad scientists, or to my Prince's special research departments. If he wanted me to be doing weapons design, he wouldn't have sent me to major in architecture.

"I should call," Saul says, when we're halfway to the office.

"Call who?"

"Liberty. I just walked out on her last night, didn't even explain..." He catches sight of my expression, and swallows. "Just because I'm not fuzzy-headed over her doesn't mean I need to dump her. I meant to get a girlfriend anyway. Good Role maintenance, stress relief. Right?"

"You're an idiot, Saul." I point at the next corner. "Pull over, I'll get out here."

"There's nothing wrong with--"

"Shut up." I climb out the instant the car pauses, but leave the door open for a moment. "You have a job to do. You don't have _time_ to take care of anything else. Once you're done with this, you can screw whoever you want, but for now? Focus."

"I am focused," he says. On the mess his own resonance got him into.

"Try to act like it." I slam the door shut, make sure he's driving in the right direction before I leave. Places to go, people to kill... If I worked for Baal instead of Belial, I'd mark notches on a favorite weapon for taking out those angels yesterday. As it is, I'd settle for not getting shot when they reappear. I'd like to concentrate on staying alive, not whether or not the baby Habbalite has managed to somehow, Lucifer forbid, get his puppy love dial stuck permanently in the on position. Never heard of that happening to a Habbalite, but my last boss wouldn't mention if it could. Extol the virtues of her so-called Choir, yes. Discuss their weaknesses? Not so much.

When I reach the office, the door's locked. I flip on the light inside reception, and wander down the hallway to knock on Ylva's door.

"What is it?" She's moved from sulking to snarling. What fun. I open the door, and lean inside.

"I sent Saul out to deal with chores. I told him to borrow Carlos. Hope you don't mind." I suspect she does. "Carlos might be safer with the kid around, given the epidemic of death that's been sweeping the office. What are you telling the others?"

"Nothing. They don't need details." She scribbles out a note on a set of blueprints, so hard that the grease pencil snaps in her hands. "Didn't you take care of the problem?"

"I slowed them down. No saying how many resources they'll pump into this black hole, but I'd think they'd stop throwing bad money after good. Eventually."

"They can be unreasonable," she says.

Well, that was a wealth of information. I shut the door, take a moment to pace up and down the hallway before returning to my office. No information at this point... Humans are bright enough to notice that Edward's gone missing, and then Gloria. Carlos will be out all day today. The mortals will be twitchy, and someone might break and run. It would be stupid, but since when have panicked humans been smart? Ylva's pets scattered all over the city, squishy nuggets of information waiting to be dissected and tracked back to here. I don't like this. I can't even blame it on my boss's extravagant planning. One Cherub stumbles across the wrong human, and everything goes straight to--well. There's no good metaphor for that location. "Straight to Hell" cannot convey the level of trouble we're rushing towards.

I waste three hours in my office working on a mundane design to submit for a potential contract. I might die before it's worth submitting this, but the work is soothing. Lets the rest of my mind turn over ideas in the background, somewhere subconscious where answers will be waiting when I go to pull them out. Not right in my mind to betray me if it comes to that. Angels may not be mind readers, but some of their resonances are close.

Around nine, the monkeys start filtering in, with the clatter of their morning rituals. One of the annoying aspects of fitting in on Earth: the meaningless phrases. Please and thank you and good morning to people you hate, and even if both parties know this full well, it still gets said, because that's how it's done. They know better than to bother me; none of the ones here today are fully clued in, but Holly aside, they don't want to know any more. You can't get branded with an arcane symbol by your boss and not realize the company isn't holding to standard corporate practices.

At a quarter to ten, there's a knock on my door. Which means one of my so-called coworkers has some problem unsolvable by the tiny brain accorded to humans, and needs my help. After all, Ylva wouldn't bother to knock. "Come in."

Didn't expect Holly at the door, though. "Hey, Leo," she says, dangling halfway through the doorway like it's more of an imposition to step on the floor of my office than to hang over it. "Where's the new guy? What's his name, Sal?"

"Saul. He's out doing homework. Might not be in for a few." I motion her in, because the dangling annoys me. "What's up? You could have paged me, for that."

"Oh, I guess I could have." Holly taps the door until it's almost-but-not-quite shut behind her. She does everything in half-measures, like she's afraid trying too hard will get her slapped down. "You're in early. Working on the big project?"

She means the contract we're submitting a design for at the end of the week, not that issue with the explosives. It's a sign of how stressed I am that it takes a moment to process this, while I stare at her blankly and wonder why she'd be asking after _that_. "Right," I say. "You know the boss will have my head if we don't get that contract."

"A real slave-driver." She's trying to sympathize with me, and it's...pathetic, yes, but endearing. As if my only problem is a boss demanding long hours from me. I'd kill to have no problems larger than that, and in fact I _will_ start killing people if I think that's a viable solution. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem that simple. "Hey, I almost forgot! Stopped by to give you this." She digs down into her purse, and pulls out a bag. "You like the red ones, right?"

"...yes?" I'm not sure what to do with a bag of cinnamon candies dropped on my desk. Right, appropriate social response. "Thanks, Holly. That's sweet of you."

She giggles, and covers her mouth with one hand when she does. "I was at the store, and I saw them, and they were on sale so I figured, hey, why not? Something hot to keep you awake while you're working the long hours."

She flees. 

I think that was flirting.

The human version isn't much like the demonic version.

I don't have time for Role-building relationships, not when my Role is threatening to crumble around me. Besides, if I wanted to put in the effort required for one of those, I'd choose someone...not like Holly. Sure, it's cute that she sends everyone in the office Christmas cards and remembers everyone's birthday, especially because the cards make Ylva boggle, but what I'm looking for in a relationship is not cute. Deadly, yes. Smart, yes. Fond of fuzzy little animals? Less so.

Now, if I could convince Saul to date her... That'd keep his relationship problems where I could see trouble before it got serious. If he doesn't drop his current attachment soon, I'm going to have to go kill his girlfriend. I try not to go in for deliberate murder; it's messy, complicated, prone to legal issues... But I don't have the resources for subtler methods, like offering her a marvelous job across the country. Or in another country. On another continent. Surely they need lawyers in Moscow.

Half past eleven, and I still haven't come up with any clever plans, though I have gone through most of the bag of candy. I don't know when that Malakite will be back, or if he will be at all, or who he might bring with him. Don't know how long the triad's patience will last, or if their ability to track me can be broken. How can I know if Saul will follow orders? I've been too distracted to watch his work, and for all I know they dumped him on us to get rid of his incompetence back home. I can work with cannon fodder if I know that's intended, but I don't want to trust vital parts of a project (the boss's project, not mine, but she's _made_ it my problem) to anyone expendable.

Time for an early lunch. If I have to listen much longer to nervous hallway chatter wherein the humans avoid discussing who's not here today, _I'm_ going to be disemboweling someone. Then the boss would get pissy, and everything would go downhill from there. Assuming further downhill is possible. I'm due for another meeting with the triad shortly, to explain why I'm not running around looking for that idiot Cherub.

I could tell Ylva about them, but she'd panic, do something stupid, and then blame me for the fallout. I'll take my chances with Judgment.

It says something about my coworkers with that I'd rather deal with the enemy than my boss, who isn't even the worst supervisor I've had. (She's number three on the list. Which has three entries.) But contemplating that overmuch leads to depression, or visits by the Game. 

A door shuts hastily when I step out into the hallway. That's not suspicious or anything. But Ylva's pets aren't my problem unless she declares them so. The Cherub can run through all of them if it'll keep her out of my way, and do in my boss while she's at it. I wonder if Regan will agree to killing that idiot Cherub once she's gotten him what he wants from her. Drop the corpse at the triad's feet and let them wait for her to come out of Limbo.

"Heading out to lunch?" Holly asks. She stuffs her magazine under the desk, but not before I can see the cover. There's an entire magazine devoted to shovel-in-the-face dogs breeds. The things humans come up with.

"I've been sitting in that office all morning, and there's no end in sight. I might as well beat the rush." A quick smile for her, because it never hurts to have people on your side, and because it's that easy to keep her happy.

"Looks like I'm brown-bagging it again," she says, with a wry smile, and...it would be easy. Ask her to lunch, let her tag along, let the triad deal with that complication. A touch of Role maintenance to make up for how much I've neglected it this week. A potential Servant, if she could handle knowing more.

Too much work when I have other things on my mind. Bringing a human along to meet angels may complicate issues with no gain. "I'll be back in an hour," I say, and offer her a wave on my way out the door. "If anyone calls for me, take a message, would you?"

"Sure thing, Leo!"

I count the blocks, following my usual route. At the corner between blocks number four and five, there's an Ofanite of Judgment waiting for me. One block short of what I would have predicted, but they're less concerned about being seen near where I work than I am of being seen with them. She bounces on her heels, and grins at me when I stop. "Trying to decide if you could take me, aren't you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind." But Ofanim are tricky to hit, and I know how much backup this one has. "Isn't this a bit public?"

"What kind of public? There's no one on the streets. People prefer cars these days." She walks beside me, ahead and behind and around, leading the way and never letting me too far away as I follow her down the street. "I appreciate the speed offered by modern technology, but I miss the foot traffic. Back when everyone walked, people understood their own motion better. It was more personal."

"Before my time." I don't know if she has a point, or is only making small talk. Or maybe that's the way Ofanite brains working, flitting from one subject to another.

"Really? How long have you been on Earth?" She skips sometimes, when she walks. It's disconcerting. I've never known a demon who skipped, even the few I've met with child vessels.

"Why should you care? And why should I tell you?"

"Give me a number, and I'll make sure the Guardian doesn't break your fingers for the first five minutes of our meeting." There's a smile to go with her words. I hate angels.

"When you put it that way..." There's the car up ahead, and the Cherub staring at me in a way that suggests pain in my near future. "Seven years, now."

"That's all? You _are_ young." I don't know if that's amusement or pity in her voice. "Now be a good Destroyer and get in the back seat, would you? Because she can break things other than fingers."

And they say the Game is unpleasant to meet.

The back seat contains me and the Cherub, while the Ofanite drives. Presumably the Seraph can read the truth in what I say from the front seat without needing to look at me. What fun.

I get a startled look out of the Cherub when I put my seatbelt on. Working for my Prince, one acquires a healthy understanding of common ways to get mangled. "So what's the line-up of questions this time? I haven't seen Esh-ban since we last talked. Matter of fact, I haven't seen her at all."

"Why did you seek out that Malakite?" The Cherub slides over to the middle seat, not content to stay on her side of the car.

"My boss told me to deal with the problem." I'm not sure how many half-truths I can get away with, here. If I shut up, this interview will become painful. Which might convince some Princes of my loyalty, but not mine: he's not impressed by martyrdom. "Don't die for the cause, make the other guy die for his cause." That's the principle in Fire, and I'm not doing well on that of late.

"How did you know where he'd be showing up?" So they've worked out the sniper issue. Just my luck. "That was not an accidental meeting."

Oh, sure, let's just go into a discussion of Regan's assignment. Like I need more than one Prince annoyed at me right now, and one of these days if I piss Regan off enough she _will_ kill me, instead of threatening it as foreplay. "Could I take the fifth on that?"

"If you refuse to cooperate--"

"What, you'll beat me up and then kill me? I figure you had that in mind already, whenever you finished here." I close my eyes, because I'm tired of staring at the back of the Seraph's head. "You're not offering me anything but time in exchange for cooperation. Risks begin to outweigh the benefits."

"We can do a lot more than kill you," says the Cherub, so close to me I can feel her breath on my ear, warm inside this air-conditioned car.

"So can my Prince, and he scares me more than you do." There's no way to hide if he ever wants to find me, so long as my Heart waits in his Principality.

I get a minute of peace while they...discuss matters, I think. No sound, but when I open my eyes again, the Seraph's turned in his seat to glare at the Cherub. They must have their own ways of communicating basic decisions like "Should I start breaking his fingers yet?" silently.

"You knew where the Malakite would be. He was there because Esh-ban was. Consequently, it's reasonable to assume you knew where Esh-ban was as well." I wasn't expecting the Ofanite to start talking. "You also seem to be telling the truth when you say you don't know where she is now, and haven't seen her. All of this adds up to the conclusion that you _can_ find her, and are choosing not to. But earlier, you were speaking the truth when you told us you wanted us to find her. So what's changed?"

"Could we get to the part where you start hitting me and I continue to not give you the answers you want?" It was a bad idea to count on the triad being stupid, or so focused on their goal as to not put together certain facts. Live and learn, or, as will soon be the case, die and learn.

"I don't think this is your idea," says the Ofanite. She hasn't taken her eyes off the road since she started talking. "I think you'd just as soon have that Outcast gone from you consider your territory, but someone else is giving you reason to do otherwise. So the question for you is this: is the person who's made you change your mind really worth what we can do to you?"

I'd toss them Erica in a heartbeat. Ylva...if I thought I could get away with it. Saul, easily enough.

I'm not sure I'm willing to hand them Regan, and that's a problem, because I ought to be. I ought to bargain for a deal whereby they hunt Regan, I get tell Ylva about the problem and pull out, and we don't take the fall for this. My Prince may be buddy-buddy with Regan's, but he will _not_ like it if I screw over our plans for another Prince's desires.

The triad probably isn't willing to bargain anyway, so it's more a matter of giving them everyone or just letting them take me out. I'm going to burn, I'm going to get burned so bad on this project... But I don't intend to take Regan out with me. It's logical. Betraying her wouldn't do me any good.

Who am I kidding? I'm not keeping my mouth shut out of self-interest, or even out of loyalty to my Prince. But it's a plausible argument to use if anyone asks. "I'm already doomed. Why should I take out anyone else with me?"

"Loyalty from a demon," the Cherubs says. "How unexpected."

"Loyalty? No, I'm thinking more along the lines of how many people I can avoid annoying."

"Let's ask for something a little easier, then," the Ofanite says. "Names and addresses for every one of your boss's...how did you put it, pets? Those are only mortals. No great concern for _you_."

Ylva would kill me. But...only if she found out. They're already getting killed right and left, and she doesn't know about Esh-ban. She won't be able to tell the difference between a Renegade Cherub taking them out and a triad tracking them down. "If I do?"

"We'll continue to outvote her," says the Ofanite. From the way the Cherub watches me, I can interpret that statement perfectly well. So it's two to one against cutting me into small pieces until I'm ready to talk. That would work poorly for them; I'm familiar with both theory and practice of torture on the receiving end, and I can scream without giving them anything to read truth on. Good thing for me that Judgment doesn't employ Habbalah, though.

The Seraph jerks in his seat, and says, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" the other two angels say at the same time. Then the car lurches to the left while we do a U-turn through lunch rush traffic, bumping over a median strip in the process. The Ofanite lays on the horn for a moment to scare an SUV out of the way, and then we're--are Judges even allowed to run red lights? If they want to frighten me to death, this sort of driving might manage it. Note to self: never get in a car with an Ofanite again.

Then I hear the disturbance they picked up, crackling through the Symphony like feedback on a broken microphone. Disturbance comes in a variety of flavors, and I can taste the details: property damage and human death. We're moving toward it.

Back toward the office.

Another wave. It's getting _louder_. Not just lingering, but echoes building on each other. I snap off my seatbelt. "You didn't have anyone watching. You waited for me to show, knowing she'd be stalking them, and you didn't have anyone watching? What kind of plan was _that_? It's not like leaving one person behind would have--" I slam into the seat in front of me when the Ofanite hits the brakes. Should've left the seatbelt on a minute longer. I'm the first out of the car, the rest of the triad scrambling behind me. 

I run through the doorway before sense begins to hit me, with questions like: why am I running towards major disturbance? Will the Ofanite be annoyed that I slammed the door in her face, and will she take "habit" as an excuse? Wouldn't this be easier if I waited for the triad to take care of things, and then apologized to Regan for screwing up her plans after I woke up from Trauma?

I don't see anyone in reception, but the office stinks of blood. It's dripping off the walls in the hallway. I can't even tell which body lies sprawled across the floor, not with its face shredded. The door to Ylva's office lies on the ground at the end of the hallway. The snarling in Helltongue from inside tells me she's not dead yet. 

That crash...did not sound promising.

Running in there pell-mell would be stupid, and I've done enough stupidity of late. I ease my way down the hallway until I can look inside. Where's the triad already? Couldn't take them _that_ long to get through the door.

The disturbance rattles so loud that when the desk smashes, I can't hear the difference in volume. My boss staggers to her feet, opens her mouth to Sing out I don't know what, and takes a knife to the throat from the other woman in the room.

Tall, red-haired, a flat and friendly sort of face. She looks like she should teach horseback riding or coach college sports. Her hands and arms drip blood, all her chest spattered in it. Right now her expression is nothing but clinical concentration, no rage to the way her knife slashes forward. Ylva's probably already done for, but I toss my resonance at the knife on general principle. The Cherub spins to face me as the knife crumbles in her hand.

There's only one door out of this place, and the triad's behind it. Getting her out of here alive to satisfy Regan's needs... Well, the Balseraph will have to forgive me if I can't manage it. I'm not being paid enough to come up with that clever a plan. But I do have a few ideas for how to keep her from toddling away meekly with the triad. "My, but you're in some trouble, aren't you," I say. 

She holds out one hand, and a wave of fire leaps out, slides over me. "You think I'm unarmed?" A whiff of charred wood from the doorframe beside me.

"Apparently not. You think I'm unprotected?" Now her face twists into fury. I throw my resonance at her again, feel it slip away from her, let it feed on the remains of the desk. I can hear the triad coming. "That would be Judgment, come to collect you. Think they'll be pleased with your work?"

I love seeing the shock spreading across her, the way she stumbles backwards, nearly slips in the blood on the floor. "But you're--they're--" Esh-ban chokes on her own words, and stares at the angels stepping into the office past me. "They wouldn't--"

"Esh-ban, Outcast Cherub of Fire," begins the Seraph, "you are required by Judgment to return with us--"

A burst of Essence from her Song, and Esh-ban disappears.

"Oh, _damn_ ," says the Seraph, and then promptly looks embarrassed to have been heard saying it. "Ruhamah--"

The Ofanite's already dashing back for the door. I don't think they'll catch her. Even if that Song hasn't taken her far, it's too easy to run and hide here. The blood may pose a problem for the hiding, but then again--

Ylva's dead. Back in Trauma, at least she's out of this. I can call off--no, wait, I need to check in, and there's no way my Role is recovering from this, I need to find out which of her pets are dead, Carlos should be off with Saul--

I need to help Regan. I need to report this to someone. I have two thirds of a triad of Judgment at my back, they know what she looks like, that's one less reason to keep me around for the watching--

One thing at a time, Leo.

I turn away from the office, walk back past the Seraph and Cherub, down the hallway with my shoes picking up a trail of blood on the way. The door to my office is open, and I set everything on the desk crumbling as I pass. Evidence may be a problem, though I've never left much. Keep it all in your head and they can't use it against you, that's the theory, but it doesn't work so well against Seraphim who can pick the truth from lies. I'll just have to be careful.

No blood in reception but what I've tracked in there.

And Holly's crumpled down behind her desk. I wasn't thinking about her, but of course if the Cherub walked in, there would have been no reason to start checking to see who was wicked or not. Two brands on people working here, that's enough for an angel of Fire to consider the evidence conclusive, isn't it?

I drop to the carpet beside Holly, and check her pulse, because there's always--no, not a chance. Tap her head and it rolls in directions no unbroken neck would let it move. Her stupid magazine is on the floor beside her. Not a chance in the world for unaware mortals up against the wrath of God. What exactly did God have against Holly?

When I stand up, my head is still buzzing with the disturbance, and the Cherub stands next to me, no sympathy on that face for anything here. "One of your boss's humans?"

"No," I say, because it really doesn't matter now, does it? "Just an ordinary human. She never knew anything. It was a good cover, you see." Her desk disappears into pieces, Holly doesn't need that any more. "About as innocent as any human comes at that age." All the pieces of the desk crumble into splinters. Everything falls apart eventually anyway; I only speed up the process. "The sort of person who keeps a Christmas card list, and then goes around trying to figure out what everyone's religious preferences are so that she doesn't offend anyone with the cards." The ceiling light goes out in a glorious burst of glass.

"Contain yourself, Destroyer," snaps the Cherub, and when she pulls out her knife I let that dissolve into metal shards.

None of these walls need to be here, starting with the one behind where she used to sit. Once that's gone there's a whole office opened up, blood-spattered and one dead body sliced and broken, waiting to be taken care of. Nobody needs that desk now, or the chairs, or the wall beyond--

The Cherub throws me down on the floor, kneels on my chest. "This is unnecessary, Destroyer."

The ceiling makes for a fine mist of plaster dust down over where the Seraph is standing, and he twitches at it. The wall behind him proves a little tougher, but everything falls apart in the end, if you take enough time and effort. The carpet beneath me shreds, dissolves like snow under hot coals. Doesn't matter who's holding me down when entropy screams nearly as loudly as disturbance, and it can lurch out in any direction to destroy what it can touch. Beneath the carpet there's concrete, no more solid than anything else on the corporeal plane, I've worked with it often enough to know.

The back of my head connects with the concrete, hard enough to make me pause for a moment. When did my hands start shaking? "Stop it," says the Cherub, face so close I could bite it. "Now."

"Or what?" I can't help the giggling, at this point. "Or you'll kill me? It's only a matter of time."

After a few moments of nothing dissolving around us, she lets me back up. Kind of her. I choose to sit on the floor, let them stand around me trying to wear neutral expressions that don't suit them. Maybe it suits the Seraph, it seems Seraphim wear blank masks the way Balseraphs wear smug ones.

Can't fall apart. Regan still needs my help.

The Ofanite walks back in, shaking her head, and stops. "What happened--" She frowns at me, like in the midst of all these bodies I should be ashamed of property damage.

"Sorry," I say, and don't care that the Seraph knows I don't mean it. "You know how it goes. Get back to work, find everyone dead, gets a little stressful. On the plus side, my boss won't be giving me any more stupid jobs for a while yet."

"The woman in the back office?" The Seraph has a voice that would do my old teacher proud, presenting questions clinically, and with that hint of threat waiting for anyone who answers wrong.

"Yeah, her." Holly's body is near enough for me to check her pockets, dig out her key ring. "I need to go."

"Go where?" The Cherub stays right beside me when I stand up, between me and the door.

"Feed Holly's dog. She won't be home tonight, and no one else will think of it." It's something to do until I'm thinking straight again. I've never been to her place, but I know the address, I know all the addresses. Good to keep tabs on the employees.

A cell phone rings. It's not mine. The Seraph flips it open, listens for a moment. "Understood," he says, and closes the phone again. "Guardian, let him go."

"But--"

"We can find him again later. Other matters are more urgent."

The Cherub moves away from me, and I leave them there in the office. Let them deal with the blood and the local authorities. Can't go back to my apartment, I need to get in touch with Regan, I need to call Saul, and someone higher up to ask for directions, and--

No. I'll think about it later. First, I need to go feed that dog.


	16. An Interlude, In Which Angels Fight With Each Other More Than Seems Appropriate For The Forces Of Heaven

"We should not have let him go," Hakupha snapped, the instant the door was closed. "Did you _see_ what he was doing?"

"What was he doing?" Ruhamah glanced around the room at the mess of broken furniture and walls. "On second thought, tell me about the call first. What's so urgent on the other end?"

"Only a status update from the Soldier we set to the other task. Nothing more important than what we're already doing," said Dothan, and allowed himself a small smile. "But we do have more urgent business than dealing with the Calabite, and it provided a suitable excuse to let him leave."

"We want him to leave?" Hakupha folded her arms. "Would you explain this decision to me? If we want to disassociate ourselves from him, killing him would be simpler."

"Simpler. But unlikely to give us any new information." Dothan brushed bits of plaster from his shoulders. "If we held him for questioning, this would delay our search, and again, be unlikely to give us new information."

"We could have made him talk."

The Seraph made a small gesture indicating uncertainty. "I've considered what the Virtue spoke of earlier. Other demons appear to be involved in Esh-ban's situation. The one we've dealt with has likely contacted them recently, causing the shift in his cooperation. We may be able to follow him to those. Removing him from this place falls far lower in priority than bringing Esh-ban back."

"Which we need to do soon," Ruhamah said. She flicked at a piece of wall where the Calabite's resonance had blasted a hole away, and watched paint flake down to the floor. "She's already inclined to distrust us, and seeing us approach shortly after the demon may have given her the wrong impression."

"Wouldn't want her to believe we're working with a demon or anything," Hakupha said dryly. "Because _that's_ so far from the truth."

"We acquire information as we must, and delay sentencing only so long as it is necessary," Dothan said. "Your objections have been noted. Repeatedly."

"I dislike being attuned to a demon. Even as a subject of investigation. The longer the attunement remains, the more I find the connection...frustrating. He is not an angel whose behavior we investigate to determine the depth of iniquity, but a demon. We _know_ he's guilt. Yet I remain attuned to him, and we carry out no sentence."

"At least you don't have to listen to his Discord," Ruhamah said. "Can you do your job, or can't you?" She strode up to the Cherub, and placed both hands on the other angel's shoulders. "You claimed you were still fit for duty. When we received word of this problem, you told us you could continue, despite the deviation from the planned trial period. I'm not asking you if you find this agreeable. I'm asking if you can do your job. If your own feelings on the matter will be getting in the way, tell us now so that we can adjust our plans."

Hakupha looked to the Seraph. "I can do my job," she said firmly. "If my objections are heard, and both of you disagree... I submit to the decision of the majority. My judgment has already proven to be fallible, and I won't attempt to trust it over what both of you believe. What are we going to do?"

"Follow him, if carefully. Watch for signs of Esh-ban elsewhere. Determine who this Destroyer has been dealing with, and what they intend." Dothan glanced back at the hallway behind them. "We have other avenues of investigation that may yet prove useful, but the Outcast must be contained. She cannot be allowed to kill freely, no matter what she believes gives her cause. It is the responsibility of Heaven to stop her."

"How much space should we give the Calabite? He's not stupid enough to run back to his allies if he thinks we're right behind." The Ofanite bounced on her heels, mulling over the options. "If we think Esh-ban will try to jump him, we want to be close enough to see when that happens. Not sure he could hold her off for long enough to let close otherwise. I wish we had a Kyriotate handy, a little surveillance would go a long way right now. And I don't like playing follow-the-disturbance when it comes to tracking this Outcast. Arriving after the crime we know is coming doesn't sit well with me. It will come again, with that Discord."

"You heard it, then?" Dothan pulled out his notebook. "I wasn't certain you were close enough to catch anything."

"She has the Murderous Discord, as we suspected. Very little, but enough to cause this. I don't think she's strong-willed enough to fight it." Ruhamah sighed, and poked at another crumbling piece of wall. "It's good that she's been converting the dissonance to keep from Falling. That's something."

The door to the office slammed open, but by the time Hakupha had remembered her knife wasn't where it usually rested, she recognized the Malakite at the door.

There was a moment of glaring between her and Joshu before he closed the door and said, "What happened?"

"We met Esh-ban," Ruhamah said. "Briefly. No one bothered to mention she knew Celestial Motion. As best as we've been able to determine, she killed one demon, a few Hellsworn, and an innocent human who happened to be in the way at the time."

"She wouldn't kill anyone who didn't deserve it," Joshu said, striding past them to examine the bodies spread out through the hallways and offices.

"Not true," said Dothan. "It is possible she would not wish to do so if the situation were clarified to her, but it's been proven that she will kill an innocent human without ensuring those she kills are truly deserving." He added, after a moment's consideration, "For certain values of innocence such as an adult human in this society might maintain."

"She's not like this, though," Joshu said. The Virtue returned to where they stood, and there was uncertainty behind his anger. "She's being pushed. They were only demons and Hellsworn, anyway."

"She's Discordant," said Ruhamah. "Murderous. This does not absolve her of guilt, though it does explain some of her actions."

"She's not guilty of anything!"

"Not true," said Dothan. "Even you don't believe that, Virtue."

The door slammed open, and the four of them turned to examine the two Malakim who had just arrived. "...oh," said the one who served Stone. "Looks like we're too late. What happened?"

"Wouldn't think Judgment would be so sloppy," sneered the child beside her. "What a slaughterhouse. Who did you judge guilty this time?"

"This wasn't our doing," said Ruhamah, her tone edging slowly away from patience. "We arrived shortly after Esh-ban finished killing everyone here. We _need_ to find her soon. Or you could find her soon, so long as that Discordant Outcast gets dragged out of this city and back home for an investigation and trial. I don't believe her Archangel would approve of what she's been doing."

"You'd try to guess the will of Gabriel herself?" Joshu loomed over Ruhamah. "How should you know what she'd approve of, in your little rules-locked world?"

"If your Archangel approves of killing innocent bystanders," said the Ofanite quietly, "this hasn't been made clear to us. If we should assume this is the case, by all means, let us know so that we can consider the actions of her Servitors accordingly."

"We remain here overly long, Wheel," said Dothan, and moved briskly towards the door, the rest of his triad following promptly behind. Hakupha kept her eyes on the Seraph, and refused to meet any of the glares directed towards them.

Their car had been ticketed for parking in front of a red strip of curb. Dothan tucked the ticket away for later payment, and settled into the front passenger seat. "If you would direct us, Guardian."

"North," Hakupha said, and pointed. "You were quiet near the end of that conversation, Most Holy."

"What I wished to say would not have aided our goals, and so I did not say it." 

"He's a less experienced with this sort of hostility than we are," Ruhamah said, "but he's more adept at stepping on his own feet than you are." She tilted her head to the side a moment as she drove. "This isn't the way to the demon's apartment; does the Destroyer really intend to feed that poor woman's dog?"

"He intends to do so, and then reassess the situation," Dothan said. "And he truly believed that human to be innocent." He sat in silence for a moment, his notebook waiting in his hands. "An Elohite would be useful. I do not understand his reaction."

"His Role and his best ally are dead, of course he's going to be upset," Hakupha said. "It's just like a Calabite to start breaking things when he's angry. What's unexpected?"

"It seemed more..." The Seraph shook his head. "I am not a Power to determine his motivations, only the truth of the matter. Perhaps it was as you said. Let us know when we're approaching too closely, and we can stay a few blocks away."

"Wish I'd seen it to know what you're talking about," Ruhamah said. "Though it's unlikely to matter."


	17. In Which, As Usual, I Need To Do Everything Myself

You'd think that Holly would have a tiny dog with a smushed-in face, a yapper that drives the neighbors crazy and mauls children with its tiny razor teeth. It would fit her personality, her ability to get warm fuzzies over vicious creatures, and the magazines she reads. But, no, her dog is a sprawling black mass of muscle and genial curiosity. Holly named it Bubbles, for reasons I cannot possibly interpret.

"Hey, puppy." I'm not good with animals outside of a lab environment. The closest I've ever gotten to working with animals was with lab rats back in college. What I do have is a healthy respect for them, ever since that encounter with the Cherub of Animals who explained to me why one should not abuse the even-stupider-than-humans residents of the corporeal plane.

The dog rears up to put its paws on my shoulders, and pants in my face. Dog breath. Disgusting, but reassuringly...solid. I could use some solidity right now. Something simple and real to focus on until I can work out what to do next.

I find the dog food under the kitchen sink, and rip open the bag for easy access. And then, while I fill the bathtub to make sure Bubbles won't keel over from neglect before someone comes to check on her, I get back to what I've been avoiding: thinking about how screwed I am, and what I can still do about it.

Current problems: the triad of Judgment, which can follow me. That Malakite, if it's found another vessel, plus any friends it brought back. The insane Cherub rampaging through the city. A Role so shredded I'm probably going to need to dodge the cops as soon as someone calls in that mess in the office.

Resources: a building wired to go up in an enthusiastic explosion, now that the subtlety issue has been ditched. A Habbalite who might or might not be reliable, or a useful sacrifice. Whatever I have in my pockets right now.

And there's Regan, who got me into this mess by leading the Cherub here, and who might or might not be willing to help me back out. Take on a few risks to help me, sure. She knows I'll pay her back. Risk the assignment she was given by her Prince? No. So I'd better make sure I can be useful before I go crying to her for help.

First things first.

I find a phone in Holly's bedroom, and dial up Saul.

"Hello, it's Sa--"

"Right. Shut up and listen."

"Leo?"

"Who do you think? Yes, it's me. Listening?" The bedspread is covered in pictures of cartoonish dogs and cats. I lean back on the bed, and distantly wonder if anyone is about to kick in the door and get back to interrogations.

"I am."

"Right. I'll summarize. Ylva is dead. We have Malakim and more running through the city. Stay out of sight, don't contact anyone, keep Carlos with you, and you get that building set up by Wednesday. I'll contact you again later. If you don't hear back from me in two weeks, head for the nearest friendly Tether."

"Wait, _what_?"

"Do I need to repeat myself? I'll use small words. Ylva is dead. The Host is in the city. Shut up. Do your job. Wait to hear from me. Got it?"

"I...guess, yeah, I can do that, but--"

"Try not to get killed." I whack the button in the phone's base to cut the connection--no wonder Holly never minded an old corded phone at work, she has one here--and dial up a number I've never called before.

"Lake Park Community Center, how may I direct your call?"

"Let me speak to Mr. Harrison, please. Let him know Ylva is calling." I'm not even supposed to have this number, except that I talked the boss into giving me an emergency backup contact in case something happened to her. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one in this organization who bothers with contingency planning. Yes, our plans aren't supposed to come back and burn us, but this doesn't make escape strategies and failure containment a bad idea.

"One moment, please." I watch a sun catcher spinning in the window, spreading bits of colored light all across my legs. Not much of a view from this apartment. I miss the house where I lived when I was attending college; it was a run-down place, but the view out the windows in the back was incredible. If I could get that house back without working for that Seneschal again...

"Ylva? Has something come up?" The rasp on the other end of the line is authentic long-term smoker.

"No, it's Leo. Ylva's off in Trauma."

"Fuck. How?"

"It's a long story," I say. Let's try the non-incriminating version. "She got killed by some wacky Cherub of Fire who's running through the city. There's a triad of Judgment chasing after the Cherub, possibly a few Malakim of Fire... I haven't been calling roll to see who's doing what, but this city is getting too heavy on the Host for my tastes. Did I mention my Role is done for? I'd like to ditch this city before it gets worse."

"Forget that, kid. Stay there and take care of it."

So much for that escape route. "Take care of it? When I'm up against this many angels, one of which appears to be completely loony? How?"

"I don't know, think something up. If you can clear the city, call me back and maybe I'll put a good word in for you. If you can't... Guess you can explain it to our Prince when you get out of Trauma." He hangs up on me with that helpful advice lingering in my ear.

And now the phone call I'm not looking forward to, even more so than the last two.

"Hello?"

"Regan, I am in _so_ much trouble. How close a watch have you been keeping on that idiot Cherub?"

"Not too close; we've been tracking her general location, not watching her specifically. Let me guess: this has to do with the waves of disturbance coming from your office."

It's oddly reassuring that he knows about that. "Don't tell me you stopped by to see what was happening."

"Of course not. The Shedite who keeps near her followed the disturbance, and reported back. Would have gone in to check, but there were too many suspicious sorts running in and out of the building. Ylva's dead?" He speaks with professional curiosity.

"And the rest of the office." I roll over onto my stomach on the bed, let my head rest on the pillow. "I called up the line for new instructions, and was told, I quote, 'Think something up.' This is not good."

"Don't worry about it. I'll pick you up, and lend you a hand in clean-up once my own assignment's taken care of. Where are you now?"

"Bad idea, Regan. I have a triad of Judgment tracking me, and I'm not sure how long they can keep doing that. You don't want to run into them." Or more accurately, while Regan would be happy to take on a pack of angels, _I_ don't want him running into them.

"What, did their Cherub grab you? That'd be a problem."

"What does that have to do with anything? Cherubim have to protect their attuned, and I don't see an angel attuning to me."

"Not Cherubim of Judgment. They get away free from that dissonance condition. Better than a Djinn; they can shove around their attuned themselves, and it doesn't wear off."

"I...didn't know that." Explains a lot, and I have a terrible sinking feeling. They can keep tracking me _forever_ , and this isn't some approximate direction Song, but a full-on attunement, complete with distance and movement on me. No wonder they don't mind when I wander off again. "Can you manage your project without me? Because you don't want to get anywhere near me right now."

"Don't be silly," says Regan, and he's as calm as any overconfident Balseraph would be in circumstances like these. "I have plenty of backup. If they want a fight, we can give it to them, and that'll be one fewer group in the city to worry about. You'll be safer with us. Now give me an address so I can pick you up."

"They're likely waiting for someone to show up--"

"So we'll distract them first. Think they're the sort to run after disturbance?"

"Right now? Yes. But they'll probably catch what kind it is. So unless you're willing to start offing humans--" I stop, and reconsider. It's not like there are any Tethers in the area to disturb, and with Esh-ban making this much noise, who'd be able to tell the difference between angel-killed and demon-killed humans? "Hit the area near where we took out that pair of angels. That will be close enough for them to catch the noise if they're near me, and can you make it look like that body we saw yesterday?"

"Easily. I'll send someone to take care of it. Give me your address, and I'll get you out of there."

Sometimes, it is good to have friends.

I leave Bubbles chomping her way happily through the dog food, and meet Regan in the parking lot. He grins at me, and holds the car door open. "Let's get out of here."

"Sweeter words I've seldom heard." It's a nice change of pace to be in a car that doesn't contain anyone I hate. "They'll be tracking me down again once they finish investigating the disturbance."

"So let them. I'm taking you to someplace safer than where I've been staying. Motel rooms are remarkably defensible against small groups, especially with a Shedite around to throw humans at them. Angels get squeamish about where to draw the lines between combatants and non-combatants." When Regan's as confident as he is now, it's time for me to worry. He'd cheerfully enter a duel with a Wordbound Malakite of Michael, secure in his superiority over any angel. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." I'm not fine, but it's a bad idea to admit that to another demon, even one who doesn't try to kill me very seriously. "You said there were a lot of people running in and out of the office. Are we talking Cherub, me, triad, or are we talking more than that?"

"Lots more. Looks like our Malakite is back, and he brought friends. If I'm lucky, a few of them might work for Michael."

"You have a peculiar definition of lucky. How much backup do you have?"

"One Djinn, one Shedite. Eight Forces each. Not completely green. They know how to take orders, and that's what counts." He pats my knee while we're stopped at a red light. "Stop worrying. We can handle this. You'll come up with some clever plan, and I'll make it work."

He has that much confidence in me? Now I am terrified. No one can do blissful denial to quite the same level as a Balseraph, and he's obviously been hitting the "Everything is fine" reset button repeatedly of late. "Why this motel room, anyway?"

"It's where we're storing the Cherub's remaining attuned. Plenty of people coming and going, and not asking questions."

I chew on a thumbnail. It's an old bad habit, but this is the week for those. "Regan, mind if I ask you a question?"

"Go for it."

"Why this city? Of all the places that Cherub could have run, or you could have led her... Why here?"

"It was nearby, and there weren't important Tethers in the area. We went over this already." He watches the road intently, which means he's leaving something out of the story.

"But that's not enough. There are plenty of places to go few Tethers, or only infernal Tethers, which would work better for your purposes. Why this city? She would have followed you anywhere you led her, with her attuned in your hands. So why here?"

"Well," he says. "It's..." He shoots a glance sideways at me. "I wasn't about to go out of my way to see you, but the location was convenient, you've been handy for backup before."

My girlfriend brought a murderous angel to my city just to hook up again. I'm kinda touched. "So I have you to blame for all of this." I shrug. "So be it. I have to be furious at either you or that Cherub, and I'm not sure I could take you in a fight. So I'll blame her for everything."

"I wasn't going to kill you, back when I showed up at your office. I wanted to see how you would react."

"Yeah, I know." Neither of us is comfortable with where this is heading, so I leap bravely into the conversational gap. "Tell me about the attuned you're holding."

"Some human." Regan's tone implies that's all there is to say about humans. One or another, can't tell them apart... But they _are_ differently useful, even if he doesn't see that.

"What age, what sex, what profession? Give me something to work with. I can't make up a clever plan with no information."

"A kid. Girl." Regan waves away the questions. "What does it matter? She won't be any use in a fight."

"Regan, in college, you spent most of your free time in the ROTC. I was minoring in psych. Allow me to use some small portion of what I learned in many tedious classes. Humans can be used for more than cannon fodder. How old is she?"

"I don't know. A kid." Regan frowns. "Hasn't hit puberty yet. She can walk, talk, and shut up when told to. That age."

So anywhere between about four and twelve years old. I can work with that, though the middle of the range would be best. "I'm going to need some authority with the Djinn who's watching her."

"You have a plan, then." Regan smirks. "Knew you would."

"Hey, I'm not saying it's a good plan, or even a workable one. But I have ideas." We're passing a Wal-Mart, and I have...ideas, yes. "Pull in here. I need to make a quick shopping trip."

Twenty minutes later, I have a bag of tricks and a renewed hatred for the human species. I suspect that any time the Game finds an Impudite who's getting too fond of humanity for his own good, they make him suffer through several extended trips at the nearest Wal-Mart. A few rounds of that and the fluffiest piece of redemption-bait will be begging for a transfer to Saminga so that he can express his hatred of humanity. It shows how worried Regan is for my health--or for my ability to help him with his assignment--that he accompanied me inside.

"Let's never do that again," Regan says, pulling out of the parking lot at a speed that would do that Ofanite proud. "Please remind me why we're not allowed to kill everyone in there."

"Disturbance, drawing attention to ourselves, having other jobs..." I shrug. "Give me a month and I could sabotage the entire fire prevention system , and then it's just a matter of you sweet-talking the right humans into blocking a few exits and starting fires inside. Watch the place go up in flames while people trample each other on the way out... I suppose my Prince would enjoy the show, but there's no style to it." A good burst of Essence, though. Rites are the drug-laced candy that Princes hand out to all the kiddies. Do what supports their Words, and get that sweet Essence hit in return every time. I haven't completed one of my Prince's Rites in...months, come to think of it. Which means it's about time for me to start eating the candy until I'm starry-eyed about his Word again.

The motel Regan stops at is as sleazy as he implied. I bet they rent rooms by the hour. I get out of the car, and look over the low quality of the structure. "You're sure you can deal with the triad if they decide to show up here?" The Cherub could punch through one of those doors without pausing in stride.

"I said I was, didn't I?" He leads the way upstairs. "You stress too easily. It's not like you can't hold your own, you proved that well enough yesterday." He raps out a coded set of knocks on the door before taking us inside. "Leo, meet Marko, and vice versa. Marko, do what he says."

The Djinn's vessel is that of a burly teenage boy, his clothes grubby enough that _I_ wouldn't wear them anymore. He peers up at me, and then back at Regan. "He's not one of ours."

"No, but I'm in charge, and I'm telling you to do what he says. Where's the kid?"

The Djinn jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Closet."

"Oh, lovely. You really know how to take care of children." This is what I would have expected from a young Djinn. At least he seems to have figured out the basics for keeping a human alive.

The closet is in the back of the room, set into the corner next to the bathroom. I pull the door open, and look down. There's the kid, curled up with her arms around her knees. Maybe seven or eight, and absolutely filthy. I drop down cross-legged on the floor in front of her. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

She has rabbit eyes, terrified of me. The Djinn can't have been knocking her around, not if he's attuned to her, but it's hard to say what the Shedite might have done. "Catherine," she whispers.

"Catherine, huh? Hi. I'm Leo. That idiot hasn't been taking care of you, has he?" I gather her up in my arms. She doesn't even resist, just lets herself be hauled into the bathroom. "How long since you've had a bath?"

"Dunno."

"Too long, that's for sure." I set her down on the floor, and turn on the water in the bathtub. "No offense, kid, but you stink. Always found it amazing how fast kids can get dirty even if you leave them in a clean room, which this is not. Here, tell me if this is hot enough."

She stares up at me, and then tentatively reaches out a hand towards the water. "Too hot."

"Got it." I adjust the temperature, and then sit down on the edge of the bathtub. "Catherine, huh?"

"It's spelled with a K. You were saying it with a C." It's hard to make out her words with her face pressed against her knees. "I can tell."

"Katherine with a K, right. In the tub, kid. You have scrubbing to do. Can you handle a bath by yourself? I figure you're old enough to not drown."

Her eyes flick between me and the running water. Ever so slowly, she unwraps her arms from around her knees. "You can't look."

"Fair enough." I stand up, wait in the doorway with my back turned. "When you're undressed, pass me the clothes, and I'll have them washed. Can you reach the soap? It's in that wall niche."

"I can get it." I can hear her fumbling with buttons and zippers behind me, and then a bundle of clothing presses against my hand. "You can't look, okay?"

"Promise." I shut the door behind me, and toss the clothes to the Djinn. "Does this place have laundry facilities?"

"There's a laundromat next door," says Marko, "but why should I--"

"Because you didn't grab any other clothing for her, idiot. Run those through a wash and dry cycle. If you have a spare set of clothes, do your own while you're at it."

He glares, but leaves with the clothing in an old backpack after Regan fails to contradict me.

I sit down on the bed next to Regan. "Will you be waiting here, or heading back to your hotel?"

"I'm here for as long as you are. If you have a triad following you, that's not a fight I want to miss." He frowns at the splashing from the bathroom. "What's the point of this? I'm not reading 'clever plan' in playing nice to a kid who's only here for leverage."

"That's because you're the military planner, and I'm the planner for everything else. You want that Cherub to Fall. If you push her into more dissonance, she can convert it to Discord indefinitely. We need to hit the right buttons. All you're seeing is a shiny red button to hammer when there's a whole control panel beside it."

"You're not making sense," Regan says, and lies back on the bed. "I don't expect you to. Let me know when you're done with this clever plan, and ready for us to set up the first meeting." He adds, after a moment, "Since we're bored, and Marko won't be back for an hour or two..."

"Don't have time for that right now." Much as I might be tempted, a dank little motel room isn't my ideal location for such things. Doubly so when hostile company might arrive and catch us with our pants literally down. I slide off the bed, and dig through my bag for the T-shirt I picked up. It's garish and large, but I wasn't sure how big the child might be. "Try to play nice for a bit, would you?"

The gesture I receive is noncommittal, but I wasn't expecting much more. I rap on the bathroom door, and open it a fraction of an inch. "Katherine? Are you done in there?"

"Almost, but you can't come in." She says that as if she doesn't believe I'll stay outside, so I do. She splashes out of the bath and pads about on the floor. "You're not allowed to look. I only have a towel." All her commands reek of desperation.

"Here," I say, and hold the shirt in through the crack in the door. "I sent Marko to wash your clothes, so you can wear this for now."

She takes the shirt, and looks up at me through the crack in the door. "You can send him away?"

"Sure. Why would we want him around? He's an asshole, isn't he?"

The kid finally steps out, the shirt hanging past her knees. "He's not out there?"

"Nope. He'll be back later, but he's not here now." I take her hand, and she lets herself be led into the room. She hides behind me when she spots Regan, which works well for my purposes. "Hey, don't worry about Regan, he's nice."

"No, he's not." She's back to whispering.

"He just isn't good with kids." I lift her onto the bed, and drop the bag beside her. "First thing, we get those knots out of your hair. This might pull, so be patient with me."

"Okay." She wraps her arms around her knees and leans against me, staring wide-eyed at Regan. I need to ask him what he's done with her, for future reference.

I make meaningless chatter with the kid while I work the knots out of her hair with a comb, steering away from topics like family or school life. Favorite television shows are a safe bet, and sure enough, she can prattle nervously about any of those at length. Regan lounges on the other bed, making no attempt to hide how bored he is.

When Marko steps back into the room, Katherine stops in mid-sentence, one hand wraps around my wrist like a tiny vise. The Djinn's eyes narrow. I've seen that flavor of possessiveness before.

I smile nicely, and pull out my wallet. "Hey, Marko. When's the last time you got her something to eat?"

"This morning," he says. "I keep her fed."

"This morning? That was ages ago. Katherine, are you hungry?" I decide to interpret the shiver against me as a nod. "Thought so. Here, get her something to eat. Some kind of kid's meal that comes with a toy." I flick a few bills at him, let him pick them up off the floor. Once he's left, I detach myself from the kid to get her the clean clothes the Djinn left. "Here. Go change."

As soon as the bathroom door shuts, Regan sits up and frowns at me. "How long do you intend to keep playing this?"

"Long enough." I kiss him quickly, as he looks ready to make a fuss. "Trust me."

There's a click as the bathroom door locks from the inside, and I grin. "Right on schedule. Let's see how far she'll push it."

"You're letting her push you around?"

I keep my voice low. "No, Regan, I'm defining boundaries. If that Djinn had any sense, he'd be taking advantage of how abuse victims turn to their abusers for comfort. Since he doesn't have the brains... The kid wants someone to trust. I don't have much time to work, so I'm taking chances instead of playing slowly. Now. Pretend you don't hate her entire species, if you can manage that."

I test the doorknob once, to confirm it's locked. "Katherine? Are you okay in there?"

"You can't make me come out!" She doesn't believe that. I don't have to be a Seraph to tell. "I'm staying in here forever!"

"Okay, if you want to. Do you want me to call you when the food gets here?"

"I'm not coming out!"

"You can stay in there as long as you want, Katherine. I just want to make sure you're safe. If you don't leave that room, no one dangerous can get to you." I lean against the wall beside the door, and wait. Humans can be as stubborn as demons, but not for as long.

"Who's dangerous?" She's up by the other side of the door, by the sound of it. I'd prefer to see her body language, but I'll cope.

"How much did they tell you about what happened, Katherine?"

"He told me stuff." The kid's voice wavers. No trouble guessing who she's referring to. A Djinn may not be able to hurt his attuned physically under most circumstances, but that won't have kept Marko from playing with her head. Especially since he's been stuck in this room with the kid for days. "He said it was my fault."

"What's your fault?"

"That they're dead. He said it was because I got in the car with a stranger. He said if I'd been good, it wouldn't have happened."

That's probably the truth; from what I've heard about the situation, the rest of Esh-ban's attuned were killed because she chased this one. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have done anything about it." The kid won't believe me, not yet, but she'll remember that I said it. "You don't have to be scared, because I'm going to make sure they don't get you too." If she hasn't been worried about that, this is an excellent time for her to start.

"That's what she said, and it didn't work." It's a good thing the kid can't see me right now, because I can't suppress that grin.

I don't get much satisfaction out of complex revenge schemes. Life annoys me, and sometimes a particular person does, but getting obsessed causes problems. I'll pursue vengeance up until it becomes a liability, and then drop it to focus on other goals. But right now my old goals are in flames. The bad kind of metaphorical flames. So vengeance suits me. "Who said that, Katherine?"

"Aunt Esther. She said she'd take care of us. Wouldn't let anyone hurt us, not even--she said we'd be safe--" The kid breaks down into tears, all of her words turning to mush beneath the sobbing.

I sit down on the floor against the door, where my voice will be coming from a place near to her. "It's okay, Katherine. She was just one person, so she couldn't do it. But now we'll keep you safe, until you can see her again."

"Why can't I see her now?"

"Because we're not sure if that's safe, kid. She's been doing a lot of dangerous things. But I promise, as soon as it's safe, we'll get you back to her."

"Really?"

"Absolutely." I stand up when the door opens. "I need to go to work, Katherine. Marko will keep an eye on you while we're gone."

"Are you coming back?"

"Of course I am." I step around the Djinn, and head for the vending machines downstairs. Regan catches up with me while I'm coaxing a can of soda from one. It would be easier to destroy the cover of the machine and take what I want, but that attracts attention.

"Time to set things up?" Regan asks. He waves away the soda when I offer it to him. "I don't know how you can stand to drink that."

"Yeah, let's get the meeting done before the triad decides to stop by and say hello. You want me to stand around looking threatening and let you handle things?"

"No, I want you to do what you think will work best." Regan runs a hand through his hair, allows himself to show his concern for a moment. It makes his vessel look its age; I keep forgetting neither of us looks much beyond college age. "I want this assignment to go well. If you have any good ideas, tell me."

"I'll call Erica, if you can get the other contract-signer in place. And I want to read the contract before we get there, assuming it's not confidential."

"Not entirely. You can read through it." For a moment, it looks as if Regan means to say something else, but he only smiles at me, and says, "Let's go."


	18. In Which The Rock And The Hard Place Make A Deal

It takes me three reads through the contract before I'm sure it's saying what I first thought. "Regan? I have a problem with this contract."

"The Djinn who wrote it up has a fine eye for detail." Regan offers me a reassuring smile, which I would find more reassuring if it didn't involve him taking his eyes off the road. "We've covered every plausible loophole, and a few improbable ones. There isn't much she can do to wriggle out of this once she agrees to it."

"Right, but there's a problem with page six." I flip back to that part. "The details of your side of the agreement."

"There's nothing wrong with it. I'm not agreeing to anything unreasonable."

I count to ten silently before answering. "Regan, I _did_ mention that the Lilim we're renting works for Lust, didn't I? She's not going to wiggle her fingers at you and pretend you've been geased, she _will_ lay that Geas on you the instant you give her a chance. Then you're bound to follow this contract at the risk of racking up dissonance."

"You say that as if I wouldn't otherwise follow the terms of a contract I signed." I recognize that tone; it's followed by violence. No, it wouldn't do to suggest I'm doubting a Balseraph of War's honor.

"Of course you'll commit to what you've agreed to," I say, as if I believe this, and don't know Regan can convince himself that the contract said whatever he wants to believe once it's out of his sight. "But there's a difference between agreeing to a contract and agreeing to take _dissonance_ if you violate it. I can see a half dozen ways already where you'd be caught between that and your Prince's dissonance conditions."

"So I'll avoid those circumstances. The contract lasts a week, Leo. You're worrying over nothing."

"In the last week, a triad of Judgment has jumped me, an insane Cherub has shredded my Role by accident, and she butchered all my coworkers on purpose. What will next week have?" We're nearly to the hotel agreed on--not too close to where Esh-ban has been lurking, not too close to the motel, not the hotel where Regan's staying--and I don't have much time left to make my argument. "It's not paranoia if they are out to get you."

"Look," says Regan, in a voice so tight I'm in peril of maiming if I can't convince him soon, "this isn't your assignment. It's mine. I'm happy to take any advice you offer, but I'm in charge. That's the contract I was given to work with, that's the contract I _will_ be using, and that's final. Now can you deal with that, or do we need to discuss the chain of command?"

I'm in no mood, or position, to play dominance games with a Balseraph of War. "I wanted to give you my opinion, since you asked. If you're aware of what's going on, I'll leave it in your hands."

"Good." He turns at the hotel parking lot. "Believe me, this will go perfectly. I have everything under control."

"Of course you do," I say. He believes it as sincerely as anything he says.

Which means it's up to me to watch for sudden triad appearances, nasty double-bind situations, and anything else that could go wrong. My first supervisor would tell me this is God's way of testing my worthiness, but I always figured being a demon scotches any chance of being worthy in the first place. I'd settle for getting through this without annoying my Prince. While none of the Demon Princes are known for being tolerant of failure, mine has less patience than some.

Erica is already waiting in the room, sitting cross-legged on the conference table with a porn magazine in her lap. "About time," she says as we walk in, and offers Regan a precise sneer. "New vessel, I see."

"It happens." The smiled returned to her is mild and professional. Regan's on his best behavior. "I don't recall meeting you."

"We haven't met. I ran into the after-effects of some of your plans." Erica slides off the table, magazine under her arm. "So where's the other party to the contract? It's not between you two, is it?"

"She'll be coming," Regan says, and sits down at the table, briefcase in front of him. "This shouldn't take long. If you'd be so kind--"

"Other room, right. Like I'd _want_ to know anything about your work." She flounces to the adjoining room. "Knock when it's time for binding. You'd better have the check ready when we get there."

Regan rolls his eyes, once the door slams shut. "Aren't Lilim of Andrealphus supposed to be charming?"

"Only if they want something." I wish I had something to read with me. Maybe I can practice looking intimidating. I'm not very intimidating in this vessel. I think I'll settle for looking harmless, and see how Esh-ban reacts.

"It's going to work out perfectly," Regan says, and he blinks rapidly three times. Resonating himself into believing it, I'd guess. I wish I had the same luxury; it must make for a happier life.

The door finally opens, and Esh-ban steps inside.

Not so bloody as the last time I saw her. Nor so confident in posture; she's trying to hide how angry and afraid she is, and failing. She doesn't seem the sort of person who's used to concealing her feelings. All her long hair is tied back tightly, and she wears a black shirt that might hide the next set of blood stains. She walks as if she might fall over, or run away, or leap across the table and throttle Regan at any moment.

"Have a seat," he says, and indicates a chair across the table. She sits down heavily. She's hasn't noticed me yet, she's staring at him so intently. "Are you ready to be more reasonable than at our last meeting?"

"You'll burn for this," she whispers.

"That's more my Prince's field of expertise than his," I say, and it's a pleasure to see her shock when she recognizes me. "But I'm sure we could work something out. A day trip to Sheol?"

"What are you doing here?" I was expecting more hostility from the Cherub, but she sounds as lost as her attuned. She must save the murderous rage for special occasions.

"Backup security," I say, and smile toothily. "Don't mind me."

"But you were with--they were right behind you," she says. Poor lost Cherub may be a bloodthirsty killer, but she hasn't been investing in Ethereal Forces, has she? "Why did they let you go?"

"Oh, the Judgment triad? We worked something out." It's an effort to keep my tone this light when I'd like to kill her now, but Regan would object. I'll exercise some self-control and work on better revenge than that. "They want you taken care of, and they knew a Servitor of Fire would be happy to help. It's fortunate my colleague convinced me to let him deal with you instead."

"I haven't done anything wrong." She's trying for anger. Let's cut that right off at the pass; aggression is harder to work with than confusion, when I want us all to leave here alive.

"See, they were nearly convinced of that," I say, and grin toothily at her. "But you started killing too many people, and that convinced them you're not worth hauling back for a trial. They don't care if you take out Hellsworn, but once you start killing innocent bystanders, they feel obliged to disapprove. Though as I understand it, their Archangel will take any excuse to persecute yours, so maybe that wasn't their reason. It's what they told me. Seraphim don't lie, do they?"

"They wouldn't. You're lying."

"Maybe I am. That is what demons do." I slouch back against the wall as if neither of us has anything to fear from the other. "You know more about Judgment than I do. Maybe they only want to chat. You can explain everything to them, and they'll agree with your actions. You didn't _know_ you were killing innocent dupes, and they only care about intent, right?"

"They weren't. I checked. I was careful, I knew--I saw the brands." Her hands are shaking. She pulls them off the table to hide in her lap, as if we hadn't already seen. Regan wears the same mild professional smile as he had for Erica. But I can see the way his eyes shine. He enjoys my games, and it's nice to have an appreciative audience.

"Most of the office was bound to their fates. I expect most of them will be standing around in the stockyards feeling cheated by now." If it were cold enough to bother with a jacket, I'd shove my hands in my pockets and look disreputable; folding my arms across my chest doesn't work as well. Must remember to work out stage directions for my next speech ahead of time, and acquire props. "The receptionist, no, but she _was_ stupid enough to not realize what we were doing. That may be a killing offense in Heaven. Or maybe she was more evil than we knew. You could tell if she was cruel, right? So if you were that confident, who am I to say you were wrong?"

Esh-ban stares blankly at me. What I'd give to know what she's thinking right now. "It's not relevant," she says, and turns her head away from me. Her words are breathy, as if she's trying to hold back tears. Surely not all angels are such pushovers as this one. Maybe it's only the internal security for the Host that can stand up to disappointment.

Regan flickers a glance at me, and I twitch one hand in a "go ahead" gesture. This is not the moment to press, but the moment to let the Cherub gnaw over new information and misinformation. If she chooses not to believe me, I'll bring out other attacks. If she does believe me, she'll have to either acknowledge her own recent stupidity, or choose not to care about it. Either can be useful.

"Let's move on." Regan snaps open the briefcase. He slides the contract across the table, expression not wavering for an instant. "You'll want to read through before signing it, I imagine."

It's better than television, watching the Cherub's face as she progresses through the contract. "This is insane." She shoves it back at him. "You can't expect me to agree to that."

Regan steeples his fingers, and smiles over them, more warmly than before. "It's your choice. We only hold one of your attuned. With the dissonance you've taken, what's one more note? Perhaps you ought to approach the triad instead. We'd planned to kill your vessel if you weren't cooperative, but it doesn't seem necessary anymore."

"I will not abandon my attuned," she says. As if we didn't know that.

"You could remove the attachment," Regan says. "It's only a human child, which is an unimportant little thing to care about."

"You'd kill her, once I let go."

Regan sniffs. "Of course not. What do you take me for? If you're not attuned to her, she's no longer a part of the War, and I don't kill non-combatants out of spite. We'd hand her over to a Prince who finds children useful. Kronos, Asmodeus, Andrealphus... I'm sure one of them would have some use for an orphan." 

Esh-ban growls. Her chair thuds onto the carpet as she stands. "You wouldn't dare, you--there are no words in this language for what you are."

"I've always felt 'demon' covered it," I say. "Why wouldn't we dare? If you don't want to deal with us, we don't need to put effort into taking you out. Your own side--well, your _former_ side--will handle that for us."

"I can--I can tell them about both of you," she says.

"Oh, please." Regan sighs, and waves the Cherub irritably back to her seat. She actually pulls the chair up and sits. "I don't have a Role to protect, and you've already destroyed his. If you want to track down that triad and let them know all about the demon they've already dealt with, be my guest."

If she walks out right now, we'll have to kill her; the triad will interrogate her if they get they chance. But she sits there, staring at Regan. Little lost lamb indeed. If it's this easy to break an angel's brain, I should try more often.

"No? Then let's return to the deal." Regan taps the contract with one elegant finger. (I suspect Balseraphs swap tips on the best manicure places.) "Are you prepared to sign? What we've promised you in this contract is generous, given the circumstances."

"How do I know you'll keep to your half?" We have her now; she'll talk herself into it. When she sasks for reassurances, the decision's been made.

"The usual way, Esh-ban. After signing, we'll have a Lilim place a Geas on each of us to fulfill our parts of the contract. You'll be bound to your part, and I'll be to mine." Regan takes a silver pen out of the briefcase, and returns to his professional smile. "I'm told that blood is more traditional, but ink writes better." He presents the pen to her. "Whenever you're ready."

"You first."

"As you'd like." Regan chuckles, and pulls the contract back. He signs his name in its true form, a symbol that _means_ him more than any representation in an Earthly language could. "Your true name. Let's not leave room confusion in this contract."

As the Cherub stares at the contract, pen in hand, I go rap on the door. "Here's your cue."

Erica slips through the door, makes a brief motion towards me that I dodge out of sheer reflex. "I'm always ready to be called on stage. Who's this?"

"I thought you didn't want to know," I say, and take another step out of the Lilim's reach.

Esh-ban scrawls out her name on the contract, and shoves the papers back at Regan. "Him first."

"Gladly." Regan turns towards Erica. "I swear to abide by this contract, so long as the other signer does so as well, and agree to the Geas to hold me to this. Suitable?"

"Tolerable." Erica grins at him, and Regan shivers. I've felt a Geas settle into me before, and it's not comfortable. "And you, babe?"

"I swear to abide by this contract, as long as the other signer does as well, and..." Esh-ban stops to swallow. "And to accept the Geas for it."

Erica snaps her fingers, more dramatically than the situation calls for. "Done. Now, my fee?"

Regan holds out an ordinary ATM card. "The PIN is written on the back; you can withdraw your money from any machine. But there's a third part to this agreement."

"Whatever." Erica huffs out a sigh. "I swear on my nature not to go blabbing about this whole deal to anyone, or to tell who I've seen here. Now I have more interesting things to do, so I'll catch you all again...how about never?" She sidles up to the doorway, and pauses there. "Except for you, Leo. My offer stands." She blows me a kiss on the way out.

Esh-ban stares at the table. Regan stands up, packs away the contract in his briefcase. "Don't you have a job to do, Esh-ban?"

"I...yes. I do." The Cherub stumbles to her feet, as clumsy as any human.

"Try not to run into the triad while you're out. If you lose your vessel before you can fulfill your contract... It could cause you a few problems." Regan keeps his smile fixed until the door closes behind her, and then he drops back into his chair. "What do you think?"

"I think she's three quarters mad and unreliable, that's what I think."

Regan bounces back out of his chair, strides about the room. "It was great. I was great, you were great. I thought you were holding a grudge about the office incident, but she wouldn't know it from hearing you. Perfectly smooth. This will go perfectly, Leo, just wait and see."

"Assuming she doesn't change her mind in the next two days and run straight to the triad. Or run into them accidentally. Or run into anyone _else_ looking for her." I'm not usually such a pessimist, nor such a vicious bastard as I've been today. But usually I don't have Cherubim rampaging through my city. That doesn't inspire feelings of goodwill. They couldn't have sent a Cherub of _Flowers_ Renegade, no, that would be too convenient. Had to be a murder-happy Cherub of Fire.

"This is why we have a Shedite watching her," Regan says, and yanks me in by the front of my shirt. "Look," he says, nose-to-nose with me, "this will work. My Prince will be pleased. Which means _your_ Prince will be pleased by your part in it."

"But less pleased about the bit where I was tracked by a triad of Judgment and my entire office was killed--"

"Which wasn't your fault. No one reasonable would hold that against you. They tracked Ylva back through her careless branding too many of her pets."

"No one reasonable. We're talking about my Prince, here. He's not...the understanding type." This is only going to work if I keep Regan's plan working, keep _my_ plans working, avoid any more bad luck which I can't plan for because luck doesn't work that way--

My brain stops working when Regan kisses me. So sue me. Everyone's allowed one weakness.

"Relax," he says. "We'll work it out. You'll be fine." He steps back, though he doesn't let go of my shirt. "Leo, considering what's been going on, I was wondering..." It's not like Regan to hesitate there. Balseraphs go with self-confidence the way Calabim do with destruction. "Have you ever thought about--" He stops, and frowns.

"What?"

Regan sighs, and steps back. "Never mind. We'll talk about it later. The Shedite just placed an emergency call. It ran into a few Malakim. Shall we go lend it assistance?"

"Do we have to?" We don't want to lose a potentially valuable ally if we can help it, but I'm in no mood to jump _more_ Malakim. It's like lopping heads off a hydra, they just keep multiplying as we take them out.

"No. But we should check out the situation before making a decision." Regan picks up the briefcase, and lays an arm over my shoulders. "Business before pleasure. Let's see if our slimy friend is worth pulling out of trouble."


	19. In Which The Disadvantages Of The War's Dissonance Condition Becomes Apparent.

"You're sure it gave you the right address?" I flip through the street index again. "I've been in this city three years, and I've never heard that name."

"No, I'm not sure, but I feel obliged to follow up." Regan sighs irritably, and glances over at the map as if he can do a better job of navigation than I can. "I don't have Celestial Tongues. I can't call and ask for better directions. We could go back to the motel and have Marko track it."

"By the time we do that, it'd be forced celestial and toasted. That breed of angels will keep its host unconscious as long as it takes to force it out." I run my finger along the list of street names. "You're sure it said the address was on Pineview? There's no Pineview listed."

"That's what it said. Whether it remembered correctly in the heat of the moment is another matter."

"Okay, here's a wild idea. Why don't we _call_ Marko, ask him to point in its direction and find out what part of the city that is? We could narrow it down." I give up on the index and return to the map while Regan juggles cell phone and driving. Where do two Malakim take an unconscious human with a Shedite still inside? Somewhere that it can't jump into anyone else. We're late enough in the evening that commercial and residential areas are full, and business areas are too chancy. Industrial, then, or outside the city. If it's outside the city, the Shedite can very well deal with this problem itself.

"South, and slightly east," Regan finally says. "What's there?"

I track down that spot on the map. "Warehouses. Okay, that's... That's on the other side of the city, we'll be lucky to arrive before it's toast. Turn left at the next light and follow signs to the freeway. Still want to try?"

"We ought to assess the situation to determine what sort of enemies we're facing," Regan says, and it's presumptuous to use "we" for what's his job. Unfortunately, I'm in no position to complain; the moment Regan realizes how screwed I am without his help, he'll really push me around.

"Lakeview." I refold the map badly, and shove it into the glove box. "That's what the idiot meant, Lakeview, not Pineview. There's a Lakeview down there, tiny little street. Once we arrive we can follow the disturbance. Why they call it Lakeview when there isn't anything larger than a duck pond for miles around, I don't know."

"You seem stressed." I could do without that level of amusement from Regan. He has backup, resources, and a definite assignment that he may yet complete. I have my wits and a lot of bluffing. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

"We're driving towards Malakim. How can it be good?" I wave at an upcoming stoplight. "Turn right over there, and keep to the left lane. The street splits in two directions without any signs."

"I'm only saying that you're taking these setbacks too hard." Regan flicks on the windshield wipers against the increasing drizzle. "Your Superior will understand you've been doing well under the circumstances."

"Under the circumstances? He doesn't look at extenuating circumstances, he wants _results_ , and I don't think I can produce them. I'm nearly out of humans, my subordinate in the city is an untested idiot, I'm not getting any support from above, and since Ylva bit it before I did, I'm the one who's holding the bag. Last man standing gets the blame." The more I think about it, the worse I feel. I wonder if vessels can vomit from stress. "Stick to this road until we pass Oak Hill."

"But you'll be helping me with my mission. They'll give you credit for that."

"Like that's going to help when I'm not doing my Prince's work." I'm tired of this whole conversation, enough so that I'm almost looking forward to jumping Malakim. "Recall that I'm not working for _your_ Prince."

"So why not switch?"

Regan actually laughs when I stare at him. It's a stupid joke to make when I'm this upset, but it's never been Regan's sense of humor that I've found attractive. "Come on, Leo. Your own doesn't appreciate you properly."

"You're...not joking."

"No, I'm not. Think about it. You could work for someone with a coherent command structure, reasonable assignments, actual back-up..."

"A dissonance condition likely to get me killed, seventeen layers of command breathing down my neck, and my Prince would disassemble my Forces for even _hinting_ at it." I need to destroy something right now, but there's nothing handy. Something, anything. Regan slows for a yellow light; I take the moment to dissolve a storm grate. "Implying I'm disloyal to my Prince will bring Game onto my back, and I'd rather deal with _Judgment_ than the Game. Why are you bringing this up?"

"Because it's a good idea." Regan's lost his smile now, dead serious. Why couldn't he have been joking? I don't have time for this. I take out a chunk of the curb before the car starts up again. "You're being wasted where you are, Leo. Your Prince wants to see the world go up in flames, fine, that works with our goals most of the time anyway. But there's not a lot of subtlety to it, and you can do subtle. You think through your plans. You ought to have use those skills somewhere they'd be appreciated."

"I'm happy where I am." It's a good thing I'm talking to a Balseraph and not a Seraph. "I've just had a run of bad luck. I'm not a soldier. I don't _like_ command structures."

"You'd get used to them," Regan says, and I don't know if I want to break into hysterical laughter or start crying at how sincerely he means that. "I'm not proposing you request a transfer. Nothing so dramatic. If this goes well, which it should, I'll submit a temporary reassignment request for you. Come work for me, see how it goes. You might fit in better there."

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, and that's one more thing to worry about. If everything goes well, then he's going to get me in trouble with my Prince. That request will imply my disloyalty, however he means it. "Not right now."

"As you'd like." Regan checks his watch to see how long we've been trying to find that Shedite. 

This is not good. I'm used to my enemies and coworkers screwing me over, but my girlfriend's supposed to harass me and threaten me, not change my career path. Maybe I can talk him out of it later. It's not easy to talk a Balseraph out of anything once her mind is made up, but I can _try_.

It's difficult to form long-term plans. All of my thought processes seem to return to a chant of "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die" in the back of my head.

The rain picks up as we drive, and I have to point out the next turn when Regan's halfway past it. The entire transit infrastructure of this city has been badly labeled where it's labeled at all. I checked the statistics on collisions and fatalities for the place after I destroyed the last car, and decided it was safer to walk.

Pineview is a dead-end street lined with chain-link fences and gray warehouses. "Park here," I say, because there's only one other car on the street, a white sedan that has the look of a rental. "You're sure we can't leave the Shedite to its own devices? It's probably toast already, up against two Malakim. Either that or long gone and dissonant."

"I can hardly let one of my subordinates be destroyed without even investigating," Regan says, and shakes his head irritably in the drizzle. "You wouldn't happen to have an umbrella on you?"

"Not a chance." I lead the way along the sidewalk, as Regan fusses over the rain. The advantage of wearing clothes that can't get any worse from being soaked. Locked gate, locked gate, locked door... Bingo. "Here we go." The lock's been broken, then swiveled back into place so that it looks whole from a distance. It's not hard to scale a chain-link fence alone, but hauling a Shedite host inside? You want the gate open. This is precisely the sort of place I'd take someone I needed to de-Shedite out of; the block is deserted in the evening. "Let's investigate and leave before anyone sees us." I slip off the lock, and push open the gate. I leave the gate unlatched, because I'm less concerned about someone noticing than I am about having a fast exit available.

"What, you don't have confidence in me?" Regan asks, and reaches inside his jacket. "Here. I know you can't hit anything with it, but you can wave it and distract someone."

I stuff the gun into the waistband of my pants. "No confidence? Just a better grasp of potential threat than you do. Or should I quote, 'Let me handle this, it's only--'"

"Shut up and come on," Regan snaps. I opt to avoid an immediate threat by not snickering at his back. Nothing warms the heart like having a minor piece of blackmail on a friend to wave over them.

Whoever opened the warehouse door wasn't so careful as back at the gate; the doorknob dangles, and the door hangs half-open. A dim rattle of disturbance from further inside tastes like a Song I can't identify.

Regan's inside before I can go into my "Maybe we should get out of here before anyone notices" speech. Since the thought of trying to hide from all this trouble alone doesn't appeal, I follow him inside. I keep the gun in my hand because it makes me feel better to have something that might make a person hesitate. Not for long, with Malakim, but it might make them think.

Do I want to be up against clever angels? No, not really. Perhaps less with the thinking and more with the hesitation. Unfortunately, Malakim have little reason to be cautious. Why can't our side get abilities like that? One more sign that the universe is fundamentally unfair.

This warehouse has shelves reaching to the high ceiling, packed with crates, boxes, plastic tubs, the odd bit of machinery strapped to a pallet. I stay two steps behind my ever-confident Balseraph. A single row of lights is on, leaving three quarters of the warehouse dark and the rest filled with crisscrossing shadows.

Regan reaches the end of a shelf, peers around, and backtracks so fast he almost hits me. He advances again more slowly, and as I have no self-preservation when I'm curious, I follow him to check out what's down that aisle.

Lying on the ground, a young woman, her hair spread around her on the floor in a mass of tiny braids. Her eyes are closed, but her chest rises and falls slowly. The Shedite's host, then, unconscious but not dead. How benevolent about mortals these angels can be. Except for when they choose not to. Virtue must be easy when you can follow it or ignore it as suits your purposes.

But that's not what sent Regan back for cover. I can barely make out the fight: two black-winged figures slash at a churning slime of organs and mouths. Celestial form, not a mere optical translucence but not-quite-there. Celestial forms aren't meant for the corporeal plane, and seeing them is like listening to a second, distant radio station breaking through the one you're tuned to. From what I can make out, the Shedite is losing.

If Regan leaps celestial to join the fight, I'm going to kill him. Forget losing a vessel, you can lose _Forces_ that way. But he waits silently next to me, watching. Nice to know he doesn't always lose his head when presented with a chance at violence.

The Shedite keens, a multi-mouthed sound that whistles past my ears, and vanishes. Back to its Heart, then, and eating dissonance on the way. We know what happened, and now we can leave before they notice us. If Regan would just _move_.

The Malakim drop back into their vessels, taking back on ordinary bodies I can see as well as the one spread out on the floor. I recognize one of them; we've killed a vessel that looked just like it. You'd think they'd want variety into their vessel choices, if only to throw enemies off. The other wears a child vessel, four feet tall and with an expression that would give me pause from across the street on a bright afternoon. We have an idea of who to look for later, and we can get out of here--

Regan steps out in front of them, sword in one hand. And smiles.

I hate it when he does this. I can't turn and run without screwing myself over, this time. But I'm not so stupid as to step into the open. I'll provide backup from safety. (Safety would be outside this building, but would no longer be backup. One or the other: I'll take the risk now while I still have a choice.)

I wouldn't have thought the short-and-venomous Malakite's expression could get more dangerous, but it manages. "Liar," he snarls. "Come to try for more of the same?"

"It seemed like a plan," Regan says, and I know that tone, the breathy excitement of anticipated violence against a worthy foe. Are all Servitors of Baal this combat-happy, or did I hook up with the one carrying a death wish? "Pity it took me so long to get here, or this could have been more entertaining. There's no helping it now. Who wants to go first?"

I drop into a crouch as the Malakim check the space behind him, expecting more demons frothing to attack. No such luck; there's only me staying inconspicuous, and unable to see. Wait until they're distracted before getting involved, and then... I don't know. Try not to shoot Regan in the mess? The more people you stick in a fight, the better the chance of friendly fire. This is why I stick to one-on-one fights in dark alleys, not bar brawls.

"We're not going to play your games," says the child, and there's the scuffling of feet across concrete--then a snap of disturbance rolling past me as Regan sings his way into his favorite tactic. That's my cue. 

I lean out from behind my protective box cover to throw a few wild shots at the newly befuddled Malakite. That is, the one who's not trapped inside Regan's whirling shields. While cage matches are not my modus operandi, I admire the elegance of trapping opponents one by one in a personal fight. It's the Song version of defending a narrow passage.

The shots don't land, but they're enough to grab the larger Malakite's attention. I sprint back around the corner, further into the warehouse. Back to where it's sufficiently shadowy to give me a chance of survival. Take a quick left, back track up another aisle, and try not to wonder why I'm doing this instead of running away. (Answer: because if I leave Regan to get vessel-killed twice, he'll hold a grudge.)

A shadow flickers too eagerly, and I duck behind a crate as a bullet whistles through the space where I was standing. "Nice shot," I say, and lay out a few shots around the corner, enough to send him for cover. I don't think I would have hit him, but it doesn't seem he can tell. Yet.

"If you come out now, I'll kill you quickly," the Malakite says. The lights overhead cast shadows of his moves against the wall, and I send another bullet in his direction when he leans out. Stay back until Regan finishes with the other one and comes for you, angel. Assuming Regan isn't overmatched and losing back in his fair-play bubble.

"You expect me to believe that?" I'd trust a Balseraph's word before a Malakite's. Regan sticks to his promises until he convinces himself he never made them. An angel won't bother if it suits his purposes to lie to you, the Seraphim aside. Even they can leave loopholes in what they say.

"If you'd prefer, we can have a long, detailed talk," he says, sounding irritate at how lightly I'm taking this. Not that I am, but a casual air is useful for passive-aggressive purposes.

"But what would people like us talk about?" I ask, and shove a small box at the edge of the shelf out to the side. Wiggle, wiggle, bait... The bullet that smacks into it would suggest he's not sneaking around behind me. "I mean, your type doesn't really go in for the chit-chat last I heard." It's a waste of bullets, but I fire another shot before he can get any funny ideas about running over here. His reluctance to step into the line of fire tells me he's not wearing a vessel that can take seventeen rounds before it stops moving.

"How about your dealings with Judgment?"

I let myself laugh out loud. "Oh, _that_. Can't say I'm surprised they didn't fill you in on the details." The triad's going to kill me, so I don't feel particularly guilty about sending more trouble their way. Besides, clear communication between them and these Malakim could only make things worse for me. "Let me guess, they're being hush-hush about it?" If I drop down to my stomach. I can see underneath these shelves over to where he crouches behind another set. A test tap of my resonance against the shelf confirms that I can reach the near side of the one he's behind, but not the far side. Less than useful. I don't want to send shelves crashing down on me.

"You're claiming Judgment made a deal with you?" Couldn't say if that's shock or revulsion in his voice, but he's not shooting at me.

"You're the one who brought it up. I wouldn't say it was a good deal from my point of view, but they're not entirely unreasonable." Let's see, angels of Fire. Persecution complex, check. "We had similar goals. They want to drag that Cherub home for a trial, but if I take her out first their job gets simpler, right?"

I catch the twist in the shadows in time to sing myself into near-invisibility and scramble to my feet. He barrels around the corner with his gun out. Stares blankly at me, and for all that he knows I _must_ be there, he can't make me out, not between the Song and the dim lighting.

I step around him very quietly.

The rattle of disturbance from the direction I left Regan sounds like someone descending to the corporeal plane. If the Shedite's come back with reinforcements--no, not when it's still twitching from fresh dissonance, which means it's the _other_ side. I didn't hear anyone jump celestial, which suggests Regan's prey is now on vessel number two. With no idea what state he left my girlfriend in, this is...bad.

The Malakite spins around, gun out, still looking for me, and I back away from him slowly. If I can get far enough away that I can shoot that other Malakite in the back while it's busy trying to Balseraph-smite, then the two of us can handle this one. Nice simple plan. Which means it's bound to fall apart at the worst possible moment.

Except he doesn't see me, and I don't get jumped by a pack of lurking Malakim, and I pad to the end of the aisle while he's looking for me back where I was.

I step on piece of strapping tape that cracks like glass breaking. Time for me to run for the dubious safety of Regan's company.

The Malakite's faster than I am, but I have a head start, and better yet, he can't see me properly. I'll take what I can get. He's not much of a shot when running, because out of three shots from behind me I only take a streak of pain along my side. Nothing worth worrying about yet.

Back down, across, not down the aisle with the forklift blocking the end (no time to try to run _that_ into anyone, no matter how entertaining it might be), hard left towards the aisle where I left Regan--

The Malakite's first vessel sprawls on the floor, suitably punctured, but the shields are gone, and this must be vessel number two. Regan's bleeding from a half dozen minor wounds. Holding his own in the slash back-and-forth of their swords, but no more than holding.

I have a _marvelous_ plan, if I could convince Regan to run away. Since that's dissonant for him, I'll settle for a mediocre plan.

Tall shelves, heavy loads. All I need to do is identify the stress points in the shelving.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Sorry, please try again, but one more bang and that'll do quite nicely. I scramble for the other side of the shelves, the Malakite who was on my tail splitting off to help mop up that business with Regan.

It's all about leverage, pressure, and making sure there's no support in the direction I want to push.

The shelving unit sways, finds its support on one side gone, and compensates gracefully by keeling over in that direction. Once it has momentum, it just keeps _going_.

Boom.

The noise would entertain me, on a better night. Tonight, I settle for watching for falling boxes and admiring a generator on a pallet slamming into a Malakite right as he realizes it's coming. A jumble of boxes, crates, machinery, debris, dust. Beautiful. And somewhere at the bottom, two Malakim, a still-unconscious human, and...Regan.

I said it was a mediocre plan.

No Malakim appear in front of me in irate celestial form, so they're out cold, struggling to get free, or out of vessels. None of those will last. I start excavating at the point I last saw Regan. The digging goes quickly when I can blast the boxes out of my way as needed. If I unearth an angel before I reach my girlfriend... But, no, there's that Balseraph I know and love, with a nasty gash across the forehead but a steady pulse. I drag him out of the pile to an empty spot on the floor, and then send two more shelving units over the current mess. Make them earn their escape from that.

Then comes the fun part: dragging Regan to the car.

He couldn't have received a light vessel, no, it had to be something tall and consequently heavy. I'm sure _he_ could drag it around, but once again, I'm the one who has to do the hauling. Times like these I wish someone would teach me Corporeal Healing, if only so that he could do the walking.

Drag, drag, drag. It would be awkward to explain this to anyone outside. Somewhat less awkward when the Song wears off while I pull him out the warehouse door. Bodies being dragged by invisible people raise even more questions.

My luck holds, and no one appears to ask why I'm hauling a bleeding man around. At the car, I have to drop Regan to search his pockets for the keys, which leaves him further mussed from lying on the wet sidewalk. He'll be angry when he wakes up. Liable to get angry at me for interrupting his precious duel, instead of thanking me for saving his skin . Once I get the door open, I bundle Regan into the back seat, slide a seatbelt around him to keep him from sliding off, and slam the door shut. I readjust the driver's seat for my own height, and realize I'm dripping blood across the inside of the car. That bullet was a less glancing than I thought.

Why would I want to serve Baal? This must happen to his Servitors all the time.


	20. An Interlude, In Which Malphas Has Been Given Due Respect

Hakupha waited silently while her Seraph worked on his notes. Ruhamah circled the two of them, hands clasped behind her back.

Dothan tucked the notepad into his coat. "There will be a full report on this," he said.

"Full report. A report. We ought to be dragging _them_ back for trial, with what they said--"

"Peace, Guardian." Ruhamah didn't pause in her circuit. "They are not assigned to our inquisition. We will pass on the information, and they will be dealt with by others, as is proper."

"They're jeopardizing our mission. One of them attempted to _attack_ the Most Holy." The Cherub shivered with suppressed rage. "They are angels of the Lord, and they ought to behave as such. This is a disgrace."

"They bring up a valid issue," Ruhamah said. "Perhaps we made a mistake in not killing that demon. While he brought us to the Outcast once, he's been of little use otherwise. These Malakim's accusation has some truth." She paused in front of Dothan. "It might yet mend the rifts if we kill him, and present this to the others."

"And imply that we've done something wrong, needing to be forgiven by them?" Hakupha snarled in a manner more appropriate to her celestial form than her vessel. "They didn't kill him when they had him in their grasp. We might as easily blame them for leaving the demon alive."

"He's more dangerous than we thought." The Ofanite returned to her pacing. "Most Holy, we ought to remove him now. The risks outweigh the potential benefits, and his presence complicates relations with the Servitors of War and Fire. As long as they're here, we must find a way to cooperate with them."

"They'll only take it as a sign they were right," Hakupha said. "We ought to be compiling more information on what they've done--"

"Silence," said Dothan.

He took a deep breath, hissed it out again through the space his coworkers left him.

"We have become distracted from our assignment. The Malakim and that demon matter only insofar as they affect our search for Esh-ban. If neither is useful to us, we will proceed as we originally intended. We may judge our decisions clearly once this situation has been resolved. Not in the midst of it."

"I disagree," said Ruhamah. "The Calabite is a potential threat. If we aren't using him, we take him out now."

"We have no time to do demon-hunting work that Malakim of Fire and War can't," Hakupha said. "I agree with the Most Holy. Let's concentrate on our assignment."

The Seraph blinked rapidly. "The Destroyer is dangerous. We will forward his information upstairs after we find Esh-ban, and avoid him now."

"I'm outvoted, after I finally change my mind. So be it." Ruhamah ducked her head. "I request that Hakupha check regularly on his position. If the demon moves suddenly, it could _mean_ something. We might have saved ourselves trouble if we'd followed him to the meeting with the Malakim."

"A reasonable precaution," the Seraph allowed. "Now we ought to make haste towards our next avenue of investigation."

"I'll bring around the car," the Ofanite said, and dashed away, the keys jingling in her hand.


	21. In Which No One Starts Bleeding, Despite Recent Trends

"Do you know any Corporeal Healing?" I sit on the edge of the bed, and examine my bullet hole. Nothing I can't deal with, but I ought to stitch it up to keep it from bleeding over my pants. Wish I'd thought to get clothes for myself while I was shopping; I don't think I could be seen in public without stares at the current state of wardrobe decay. "Because if you don't, we are all fucked."

"Know it so-so," says Marko, and glowers at me. Probably annoyed about being sent on errands. "I can take care of _him_."

"So get to it." Doesn't matter to me if the Djinn wants to ignore the hole left in me. That'll heal eventually on its own, and I can still walk. "Where's the kid?"

Marko jerks a thumb over his shoulder, and mumbles under his breath as he stares at Regan, who's still out cold on the bed. Just what I need, a Djinn who can't remember the Songs he's learned. At least Ylva was good at the Song when she could be convinced to use it.

If I'm starting to miss Ylva, I'm in deeper trouble than I thought.

The door to the bathroom's been yanked from its hinges, and hangs in the doorframe. Marko could have let the kid stay in there as long as she wanted; there's no window for her to crawl out.

I push open the door, make a note of how she jerks away at the noise, and then settles down when she realizes it's me. She stares quickly back at the toy car she holds. "Hey, kid," I say, and lean against the wall. "Missed me?" Disturbance rattles by as Marko...well, he's trying to sing Regan back to health. Couldn't say if he's succeeded.

"Nope." She drives the car back and forth along the side of the bathtub. "Marko got me the boy toy. It has stickers to put on and they don't fit. The doors don't even open. It's not any good."

"I'd tell him to get the girl toy next time." This room's more cramped than I'd like to work in, but letting her out to see a blood-drenched Regan is a bad idea. I don't know enough about what she's seen lately to predict her behavior. "So what's the game? The car drives here, the car drives there? Doesn't look exciting."

"It's not a game. It's a story." She runs the toy car carefully down the side of the tub, and over to the towel crumpled on the floor. "This is the park. That's where kids play soccer." The car circles the towel. "Soccer ends and they all wait for their parents to come pick them up. Or their aunts. Whoever picks them up."

"So who shows up?" I drop down to sit on the floor. "Parents and aunts?"

"Parents, yeah. And everyone goes home in the right ride." The car circles the towel. "And this one girl waits for her ride and it doesn't come, except this car comes and the guy says her aunt's busy so he's here to pick her up." She stops the car in the center of the floor, and folds her arms. "But she says no you're a stranger and I don't talk to strangers, and doesn't get in the car. And he drives away. And her aunt comes to pick her up and takes her home. The end." A burst of disturbance follows her story like a footnote.

"Not an exciting story, but it wraps up well." I pick up the towel, hang it over the edge of the tub. "You're hair's a mess again. You ought to braid it if you're going to keep it that long."

The kid runs fingers through her hair, catching in snarls on the way down. "Why's your shirt all red?"

"Oh, that? Got into a little fight with someone. Don't worry, we won."

"You're bleeding?" She leans forward on hands and knees to examine my shirt. "That's gross. Aren't you going to see a doctor?"

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"But it could get _infected_. You could get sick and die." The kid's entire face wrinkles when she frowns. "You should go to a doctor."

"I'll try to pencil that in." A third burst of disturbance rattles by, and I need to talk to Marko about waiting between uses to keep the noise from building up to something detectable further away. This would not be an opportune moment for more Malakim to appear.

The cursing in Helltongue warns me of Regan's approach before he appears, and I'm back on my feet when he staggers into the bathroom. "You and I need to talk," he says. "After a shower. Go _away_."

He's not threatening me explicitly. A good sign. The kid's bottom lip starts to tremble at a scary blood-covered man speaking in a language she doesn't understand, so I save apologies for later. "Come on, Katherine," I say, and offer her a hand. "Let me dig out a few things for you."

The door slams behind us, and swings part of the way open again. I hope they paid for this place in cash. The kid clutches my hand. "Was he in the same fight?"

"Yeah, but he'll be fine." I lead her away from the door before Regan can get aggressive. I swap back to Helltongue. "Hey, Djinn, do you know how to drive?"

"What, do you think I'm stupid?" Marko snarls at us, and Katherine pulls back behind me.

"No, only new." I toss him the keys. "Pick up a change of clothes for Regan. Get me another shirt from somewhere. And bring back dinner for the kid, while you're at it. Remember to get the girly toy with the kiddie meal this time, okay?"

"You expect me to leave the kid here with _you_? You couldn't kill a rabbit."

"There are two categories of enemies who can show up at this point, Marko. One person stumbling onto us by accident, in which case I can handle it. Or a whole squad of Malakim rushing in to kill us all, in which case you wouldn't stop them either. Go." This isn't entirely accurate, but I discovered long ago that people will believe anything plausible if you say it with an air of authority. This is doubly true for demons used to listening to authority figures.

He takes dramatic exit cues from Regan. The door slams behind him hard enough to make Katherine twitch behind me. "I don't like him," she says, her voice reedy. "I don't care if he's supposed to watch me, I don't _like_ him."

"Neither does anyone else, kid." I detach my hand from hers. "Did you check out the bag I left behind?" She scurries over to sit on the bed, and shakes her head. "Guess it'll still be a surprise."

"What is it?" You have to love the way children get to the heart of a matter. No more mercenary than any other age of humanity, but they don't pretend to have nobler motives.

I took care of the packaging already, as ripping apart plastic is annoying and even a kid would notice if I resonated it off in front of them. I drop in the batteries, then toss it to her. "Here you go. So you can keep in touch with me when I'm not around."

Katherine fumbles her catch, and retrieves the walkie-talkie from the bedspread behind her. "How does it work?"

"First, you turn it on. Power button's right there. Then, you set it to talk, code, or silent." I sit down beside her to show off the switch. "If you're in talk mode, you hold down this part here to talk. You can't talk while listening, so don't press that if you want to hear anything. In silent, you can send, but you won't get any messages back. That's if you want to keep quiet."

"What does code do?" The compact piece of gadgetry is bulky in her little hands. "Does it turn what you say into code?"

"No, that sends a beep. Like this." I flip on the second walkie-talkie and demonstrate. The package held four, which means I can go through a few before the set is useless. "See the sticker on the back, where it has dots and dashes next to all the letters? That's Morse code. You can send short words by spelling them out in long and short beeps."

"I'm not good at spelling."

"That's okay. There's only one set of letters you really need to know. S, O, S. It's easy. Three short, three long, three short." I put on my best serious face. "That's an official distress call. If you're ever in trouble, you can use that, and I'll know you need help. Now show me you know how to do it."

The kid solemnly taps out the pattern back to me. "I'll remember."

"Great. Now, I'm switching mine off now, because there's no point in burning out the batteries when we're in the same room. But I'll turn it back on when I go out." There's nothing like the taste of security in the midst of chaos to twist loyalties about. Am I proof of that myself? I follow Regan around like a lost puppy, throwing in my lot with his because he has a purpose and some semblance of control.

I should have stolen a car and run for the nearest Fire Tether (which is not near) after Esh-ban went homicidal on my boss. Forget orders, I should have run for a Tether, setting fire to everything I passed on the way, and called my Prince to beg for help. That would have been the _smart_ thing to do. But no, I had to get caught up in plans for revenge...

If I back out now, Regan will kill me.

The kid catches a yawn behind two hands. "Sorry."

"No problem. You ought to go to bed anyway." I make a show of checking the time on the bedside clock. "Look at how late it's gotten."

"Leo, will you tell me a bedtime story?"

"Sure," I say, and try to remember any children's stories I know. Definitely not the ones the imps passed around in Hell. "Get in bed."

She kicks off her shoes, and scoots under the covers faster than I'd think a human that small could manage. "A story with a happy ending. And can it have horses in it?"

"Sure." I search my memory, and pull out lines I memorized without trying. "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters."

Her eyes close by the third paragraph, and halfway through the second chapter the kid is snuffling away as sleeping humans do. Good. I couldn't do the entire text of _Pride and Prejudice_ from memory.

She's still holding that walkie-talkie, as if it were stuffed animal for her to cuddle.

Regan finally stalks out of the shower, clothes still bloody but personally cleaner. He stands at the end of the second bed where I'm sprawled, and glares down at me. "Where's Marko?"

"Sent him to get you clothes. And the kid some dinner, except she's collapsed already. How are you feeling?"

"Like someone dropped a shelf full of boxes on me."

"Two Malakim, both in better shape than you were. It was a calculated risk."

Regan drops onto the bed beside me. "You couldn't let me in on your calculations?"

"What would you have done? Run away from the fight to get out of the way?" I roll onto my stomach. "You would have been annoyed if I'd ditched you."

"Again."

"Right. Again." I sneak a glance at the kid, but she's fast asleep. "Can we move the Wednesday meeting to a different location?"

"Why? Worried about security?"

"I'd like some insurance, just in case events turn messy." The back scratch begins. So I have been forgiven. "I can give you an address. The place is condemned, which means we can keep any havoc quieter. If that Habbie kid does his job, there ought to be a few useful resources set up by Wednesday."

"I don't see any problem with that." Regan turns the general scratching into a single thumbnail running along my spine. "I dislike leaving the Cherub unwatched while she roams the city. I would move up the meeting if I thought she would have our information that quickly."

"Your Shedite was doing a bad job of tracking her anyway," I say. "Unless it didn't report Esh-ban's hobby to you?" I leave open the opportunity for Regan to admit he chose not to inform me about a murderous Cherub running about in my city.

"It was less competent than I wished," Regan says, in a graceful example of avoiding any blame while simultaneously not quite claiming someone screwed up and sent him a useless Shedite. "Though I'll need it back for what little assistance it can offer. If it doesn't check in soon, I'll call my commanding officer to see if it's gone AWOL. How long has Marko been gone?"

"Since you got in the shower. Is the Djinn the sort to be passive-aggressive by taking forever for a simple task, or by performing it badly?"

"More the former." My girlfriend lies down next to me, and when he smiles I can nearly see his true form behind those black eyes. "Which means we have plenty of time. With nothing to do but wait."

"You do remember that there's a kid sleeping over there, right?"

"So? Why should I care what a human thinks?"

He's not going to let me off easily when I owe him for that shelf dropped on his head. Suitable compromises and excuses... Right. "You shouldn't, but I have reasons, okay? Allow me to be paranoid." He's not convinced. "Besides, we shouldn't get distracted while Marko's out. You think he'll be checking to see if the Cherub's heading in this direction all of a sudden?"

Regan sits up. "That's duty for you," he says. "We'll head back to my hotel as soon as Marko arrives. If there's nothing to do for a day or so but wait, we can do that somewhere cleaner."

"You and your standards. Not worried that someone will notice us while we're out? After that last incident, the Malakim know your face and mine. They could be hunting us by now."

"Let them," Regan says, and smiles at me. His smile is sharp and perfect. "What, are you afraid?"


	22. In Which I Am Not A Nice Person, Not That This Should Come As A Surprise To Anyone By This Point, Because, Hello, Demon, Remember?

In Which I Am Not A Nice Person, Not That This Should Come As A Surprise To Anyone By This Point, Because, Hello, Demon, Remember?

Tuesday afternoon. I haven't heard from the triad for long enough that I wonder if Esh-ban did in the other Cherub. While it would be nice if they decided I'm not worth their time, I doubt they think me harmless enough for that. I certainly wouldn't trust myself to sit quietly waiting for them to schedule in a smiting, and that I'm not fleeing the city ought to tell them something.

It's either sprawl on the bed or destroy something, and as Regan gets touchy when I blow things up in his hotel room, I'm staring at the ceiling again. If the stress doesn't kill me, the boredom will.

Regan hangs up the phone. "The Shedite is back," he says. "Took a Tether back down instead of returning to where it fled. It was afraid Malakim would be waiting. What a pathetic little coward."

"Two Malakim in celestial form? I'd do the same." I have an itch in my back right between my shoulder blades, and if I roll over Regan might take the hint, or he might ignore it and then I'd be staring at bedspread. I'm tired of this expensive room. It's too clean and neat, and Regan gets aggressive every time I want to visit the restaurant downstairs.

"If it had waited a moment longer..." Regan puts away his phone, opens the briefcase again. To review the contract, I think, because he's been reading through it obsessively since we got back from the motel. He's conveniently forgotten that we both waited until the Shedite had fled and the Malakim dropped back into vessels before we stepped out. If it had waited a moment longer, it would have lost more Forces, while we didn't try to rescue it.

I like some Shedim. In celestial form, they don't pretend to be anything like humans.

I don't like humans, really, but I wish Esh-ban hadn't killed Holly. She was the sort of human that made me think the rest of the monkeys might not be that bad.

That I'm thinking about this at all means the stress is getting to me. Tension without a way to address it turns me maudlin. The last time I was stuck in a small room with Regan for this long was the first time I tried kissing her, on the theory that getting stabbed would be relief from the boredom, and look how that turned out. "I ought to head back to the motel. Chat up the kid a little more. She might be useful."

"I can't see how. The child's hardly old enough to shoot straight, even if she had training."

Trust a Servitor of the War to see everything in those terms. "That's not all humans are good for, Regan. Haven't you ever been in a situation where you needed to avoid a disturbance? Or throw someone off your trail. There's nothing like sending an innocent dupe in to confuse the Host." Sweet clueless Holly sitting at the front desk, and the Cherub didn't stop to find out. Everyone who works for a demon must be evil. What idiots some angels are.

"It's a waste of your time," Regan says, and reads through the contract again.

Shouldn't have let him sign it, or I shouldn't have brought in Erica to geas him into keeping to it. He could have lied to himself later, convinced himself that it didn't say what it says, and we could be out of here while the Host searches for Esh-ban. But we're not. We're waiting for Wednesday.

"Where are you going?" Regan asks, when I'm most of the way to the door. 

"Back to the motel. I'll walk." It's over ninety degrees outside right now, and the day's only getting hotter. If I stay inside in an air-conditioned hotel room for much longer, one of us will end up bleeding, and I'm not willing to bet on it being Regan. 

"I can drive you." He sets the contract back in the briefcase.

"You'd scare the kid. I'll walk."

"If you run into any of the enemy--"

"Then you can say that you told me so, when I get out of Trauma." I duck out the room before he can object further. It might be time for another chat with the triad.

Two hours of walking to the motel, and no triad appears, nor any blackwings. I could keep going. Grab a car, get out of the city, make my way to a Tether. Let Solveig-called-Saul wire the building, wait for a call, figure out what to do on his own. It would be a learning experience. If Regan meets up with Esh-ban tomorrow, and all goes as planned, he'll be fine without me. He'll threaten to kill me the next time we meet, get over it, and we can make up in his next hotel room.

Holding grudges will get me killed some day.

When I reach the motel I take a moment to consider where it lies on the city's grid. Right near the freeway, which is a boundary un-hospitable to foot traffic. To the left, a long stretch of apartment complexes. In the back, a greenbelt and more residential areas. That leaves me with one quadrant to hit: cheap commercial.

I search the area methodically. I find her outside an ice cream shop, staring into a melted cup of mint chocolate chip. She doesn't notice me walking by, so I go inside, pick up an ice cream cone, and come back out. She's at a stone table, never stolen because it would take four humans to lift, but spray-painted over with nonsense. I sit down across from her, and wait for her to notice.

It takes her several seconds. Not so strong in the Celestial Forces, this one. Nor Ethereal. Typical Cherub, all muscle and no brains. "Let's not make a scene," I say, when her eyes go wide. "You could try to kill me, but we'd draw spectators."

Her hands twist at the edge of the table, but she doesn't know how easily she could break me. "What do you want?"

"I'm only stopping by to say hello." I have a charming smile when I bother to use it. This scruffy little vessel will never impress anyone with high standards, but I'm not trying to seduce her. "No time for a chat?"

"We have nothing to say to each other." Her eyes are red-rimmed. Celestials shouldn't cry; it's undignified. 

"What, you don't want to know how Katherine's doing?" Her head jerks up at that. I'm indulging myself too much here. But it's typical of my Band to play dangerous games, isn't it? "That's what I can't figure out about you, Aunt Esther. Do you want the kid back or don't you?"

Her knuckles are white, and her hands remain where I can see them. I wonder if she's found another knife. "Only a demon could ask that." 

"Which is why I'm asking. Because if you do, you're going about it all the wrong way." I take a moment to nibble at the ice cream, substandard fare. When will I have time to visit my favorite restaurant again? I entertain the idea of setting it on fire before I leave the city, to see how the sprinkler system and smoke alarms work. Probably won't have the time. "You really ought to make up your mind one way or another. The longer you equivocate, the more trouble you'll be in when you reach a decision."

"You know full well she's my attuned."

Oh, if looks could kill. But she's not Calabite to throw damage at me with a glance. "So remove the attunement, and go home. Surely you'd rather be back in the good graces of Heaven."

"I can't," she says, and for a moment there's more truth there than she wants me to see. "I _won't_."

How much dissonance has she taken from trying to remove that attunement and failing? Abandoning an attuned must count as a betrayal. She may be getting hit by Choir and Word dissonance both. "Then don't," I say, and take a bite of ice cream. "All you need to do is hand over the information listed in that contract, and you get the kid. You still have time to find it."

"If I did..." She stares down into her ice cream. "How could I go back?"

"Why would you want to go back?" I meet her glare with a cocky grin. Poor little lamb, she hasn't put her priorities straight. "They'd put you on trial and take the kid away again. Assuming they don't kill you right out, at which point I don't think anyone's going to remember one little human."

"I won't let them take her." She leans forward over the table, and knocks her melted ice cream onto the ground in her haste. "I will _not_ abandon her, Destroyer."

"Oh, look at that. Sticky mess, and someone else will have to clean it up. Littering is a bad habit to pick up." I lean down to pick the cup up, set it neatly in front of her again. "You're taking this too personally. You killed some human I was fond of, but you don't see me getting upset about it."

"You couldn't care for anyone," she says, but she pulls her hands back. "You wouldn't know how."

I finish off my ice cream cone, and wipe my fingers on the napkin that came with it. "You're thinking of Djinn, Esh-ban. I'm a Calabite. We work differently. It would be easier if I didn't care." She won't meet my eyes. "Not having that luxury, I settle for being professional. While you're playing murder games, I've been keeping Judgment off your back. I didn't expect gratitude, but I could have done without having my pets slaughtered."

"No one who didn't deserve it."

"You still believe that? If it lets you focus on your job, very well. The triad might disagree, but that's only a problem if you meet them."

"Why did you come here?" She's moved from anger to suspicion, which means it's time for me to play out some nefarious motivation she'll buy. Misdirection's as good as a shove.

"I don't serve the same master as he does," I say, and return to the pretense of charm. "You're bound and geased to follow through on that contract, but once you've finished, you're a free agent. If you want to keep the kid, and acquire protection from the ones hunting you..." I spread my hands. "We could make a deal."

"Never," she snarls, and there's a Djinnish look in her eyes. Or maybe I only see that because I want to.

"Suit yourself." I stand up. "But the offer remains."

"You'd so easily betray your own, wouldn't you?"

"Given the chance?" I shrug. "Enjoy your afternoon."

She seems the type for knives or bare hands, not guns, but my back still itches when I walk away.


	23. In Which I Begin To Wonder If I'm The Only Sane Person Here, Even For Demonic Values Of Sanity

Katherine is throwing a tantrum.

This does not come as a surprise. Marko's away on an errand set to him for the sole purpose of getting him out, and the kid has latched onto me as the one trustworthy and stable person she's seen in days. Which means I get to listen to the angry wailing of a child who can't cope with the stress.

I preferred the shell-shock.

"I hate you," the kid says, her face wet and blotchy. "I want to go _home_." She kicks the ratty desk chair, and forgets to be angry for a moment when bounces over onto its side.

"Don't we all." It would be easier to ignore her, but less productive, so here I am stuck in a room with an itty bitty noisy human, trying to keep my temper. She's stopped shrieking and settled down into gulpy sobs between her accusations.

"I think I broke it," the kid says, in a voice so quivery I'm worried for a moment that she's wailed herself sick and is about to throw up. But instead she sets the chair upright, gives me a sidelong look, and kicks it over again.

"Break it if you want. It's a cheap chair anyway."

"But that would be bad," Katherine says. She wipes her nose on the back of her arm. Children: exactly like adults, except shorter and less hygienic.

"It's not your chair, right?" She shakes her head, staring at me. "Does it belong to anyone you like?" Another head-shake. "Are you going to have to pay for it if it breaks? No? Then go ahead. See if it makes you feel better."

The kid looks up and down at the chair. "I don't know how." The tears have stopped, though she'll go off like a fountain again if not distracted. "I don't care. It's a stupid chair."

"Here, I'll show you a trick." I tap the bedspread, and she crawls up to sit next to me, leaning her damp little head against my shoulder.

"What kind of trick? Like, pulling a coin out of my ear? Because I know how that one works."

"No, much better. Watch the chair." It's so near to falling apart from age and poor construction that I barely need my resonance to make it collapse into fragments. The kid starts against me as the chair crumples. "Boom."

"How did you _do_ that?"

"Magic," I say, and grin at her to let her know it is a trick, but not one I'm going to explain.

"Can you do that to people, too?"

Not the question I expected, but a reasonable one. "Sometimes, if it's important. There's a reason they asked me to keep an eye on you, Katherine."

"Why did they send him?" She leans across me to stare a the door, as if the Djinn's about to barge in. "He's awful."

"Because even if he's not nice, he can keep you safe." More precisely, he can track her down if she scampers off, and knows if Esh-ban gets too close. Now that the Cherub is well-trained to stay at a certain distance, the Djinn is nearly superfluous. There's enough angelic froth to this city that additional muscle only provides minor benefits. We can't brawl our way to victory against the Host. "Now that I'm here, I guess we don't need him, do we?"

"I hate him," the kid says. She watches for my reaction. "I wish he was _dead_."

"Wish he were dead," I correct. "Don't abuse the subjunctive. It needs all the love it can get."

"I really mean it," she says, because I haven't bothered to be offended. "I wish he was--I wish he were dead."

"We can arrange that, Katherine, but be careful what you wish for. Causality tends to spiral." Her eyes hit the typical human blank of incomprehension. Right, seven years old. "Little wishes turn into big problems, if you're not careful. Imagine if Marko were dead. First, you need to figure out what to do with the body. Then the police ask questions. The motel charges us for the bloodstains. All that paperwork." I grin at her wide-eyed expression, and ruffle her hair. "Besides, who would look after you while I'm gone? Someone could try to grab you. Can't leave you alone."

"You could watch me the whole time," she says, clinging to my arm. "Instead of him."

"I have a job to do, Katherine, and it's a complicated one that takes up a lot of time." Besides, Regan's liable to get violent if I ditch him to play with humans again. "Maybe later, if..." I pause for effect. "Well, maybe not. Never mind."

"If what?" The kid tugs on my sleeve. "If what?"

"It's nothing. I was thinking how I could get Marko sent back home and watch you myself, but I can't do that while I worry about my job. I have a lot to do."

"I can help!"

"Maybe. It's a pretty hard job." I wait a few beats. "Tell you what, Katherine. If I come up with a way you can help, and you can do it properly? I'll get rid of Marko for you."

"What kind of getting rid of him?" She can't decide if she wants to be suspicious or awed, so I smirk down at her until she hides a giggle behind one hand. "Will you, really? You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, kiddo." Footsteps outside, and the doorknob turning; I lean down to whisper in her ear. "But don't let on to anyone, okay? This is our secret."

Marko stomps into the room and slams the door behind him with all the force of a small, disgruntled Djinn who's invested lightly in Ethereal Forces. "Get out." He's speaking Helltongue again. A bad sign. "I don't need your help."

"What do you care if I'm here? Less work for you to do." I keep my tone light and confident, since the kid can't understand our words. Her fingers press into my arm, and she slides behind me as the Djinn stomps nearer. Apparently no one explained to Marko the benefits of dealing _pleasantly_ with people you want cooperation from. Or he's one of the Djinn who compensates for not being able to injure his attuned by finding other ways to torment them.

"We don't need you. You're not even a Servitor of our Commander." The kid's hiding entirely behind me now, and shaking. "She's not _yours_."

Good old Djinnish jealousy. "She's yours whenever you're not on errands, so relax." He's not relaxing. He's glowering. Time to cut out before I create new problems, because I don't need a disgruntled Stalker at my back when I'm dealing with this many angels. "Give me a minute to come up with a decent excuse--"

Speedy Djinn. My head rings from smacking against the wall, and the kid wails, quiet and thin. "Get out," Marko says, hauling me up by the front of my shirt. I have to scramble for purchase on the floor. "You're not needed. You're not wanted. Get out."

"Stop it!" The kid slides off the bed to grab at Marko's jacket, and I suppress a giggle at the look on the Djinn's face when she kicks him in the ankle. "Let go!"

"I could kill you," Marko says, still trying to recover. The kid's still kicking at him, like a puppy attacking a bear.

"Maybe. But if you did, Regan will have your head for it. He needs me for this game." If it came down to a fight, he has a fair shot at doing me in, but I don't play fair. "Think about this for a moment. If I tell the kid to run for it, and she does, how well can you defend yourself against me while chasing her? And her Cherub will know she's moving. Do you want to deal with Esh-ban from one direction and me from the other? Then explain to your Prince why this happened?"

"You're not one of ours," he says. The protest of a dim Djinn who realizes I'm telling the truth. I'm fond of honesty; it's so often useful.

"No, our Princes want us to get along, don't they? Now let go of me before the kid breaks her foot on you."

The Djinn lets go. "Don't worry, Katherine," I say. "We worked it out." I haul her up into my arms before she can try biting the Djinn. "I need to go. I'll see you again tomorrow, okay?"

"Don't go," she whispers in my ear, and clings to my neck. "Please don't go. Oh, you're _bleeding_."

"No need to worry about that. Marko's going to take care of it." I offer the Djinn my nastiest grin, the one I save for SUV drivers who don't at crosswalks. "Aren't you?"

"You want me to waste the Essence--" Marko breaks off, realizing he's back in English again. "Not worth my time."

"I can tell Regan that, if you'd like."

"You won't have that Serpent's favor forever," he says, but he lays a hand on my cheek, and sings that uncomfortable buzz away. "Now get out."

"As soon as I'm cleaned up." I return to the bathroom, and drop the kid back on the floor there. "Sorry about that, Katherine. He's stressed out too."

"He hit you." She won't let go of my hand, which makes cleaning the blood off my head awkward. "I hate him."

"You mentioned that." I'm tired of dealing with idiots. I drop the bloody washcloth back in the sink, and ruffle her hair. "You only have to put up with him for another day or two, and I really need to go."

"Don't go!" She wraps both arms around my waist. "Don't leave me here."

My patience is wearing thin. "Katherine, I need to go. Which means you need to let go, and behave. If you can't do that, I don't think you can help me later."

The kid lets go, and holds her hands behind her back. "Okay. I'm good, see? I can help. I just don't want to stay with _him_." Her lower lip quivers, and she takes a fast, ragged breath. "You'll come back?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, for sure." She's not satisfied, so I bend down to offer her a quick hug. "Be good while I'm gone. I know Marko's a jerk, but he'll keep you safe. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

There's relief in the air when I get out of that room.

No one bothers me on the walk back, which means I have a chance to sort through what's going on. Tomorrow wraps up Regan's business here, which leaves me ally-free unless I can convince him to lend me a hand. If I could push that Cherub far enough to Fall, and take her to my Prince... No, that won't happen, Regan would kill me. I need to help the War's project, and hope some of the shine rubs off on me. If we can get that triad out of the way, I'll persuade Regan to give me a ride to whatever Tether he uses, and from there... I don't know. I'll figure it out when I get there. 

The Malakim aren't going to find me quickly with my Role gone, but the Judges can track me. (Are they working together already? Better hope Heaven does half as much infighting as Hell.) Maybe I can lure them into that building when it goes up. How to get them there without getting killed and dissonant in the process, that's trickier, but I have a day left to plan.

When I get back to the hotel, I knock on the door to Regan's room, and wait. He lets me stand there long enough to understand that he's annoyed, finally opens the door when I'm deciding I'll go sit in the bar instead. "You took long enough," he says.

"The kid threw a fit, and I had to listen to her cry over her troubles. It took a while." I move towards the bed, but he catches me by the wrist. "What?"

"And the blood?"

My cleaning job wasn't perfect. "Your Djinn has a short temper. He ought to work on that. And enough jealousy issues that you should check that he hasn't gone Cherub on the kid, before he causes problems."

"He hit you." Regan's voice has an eerie calm that I don't like at all, nor do I like the look in his eyes.

"What? I've taken worse from humans before, and he healed me afterwards. It's not worth stressing over. Bigger problems, remember?" He hasn't let go of my wrist. "AWe still need him to keep track of Esh-ban."

"I don't need subordinates who can't control themselves," Regan says, but his grip loosens slightly. I'm going to have bruises. "He doesn't have the authority to act in that manner."

"And I don't have any authority. I don't work for your Prince, remember? Marko and I aren't in the same chain of command." I extract my wrist from Regan's hand. "He's a Djinn, they get weird about their attune."

"That's not the point," Regan says, and I'd be more comfortable with this situation if he sounded annoyed, instead of calm. "He's not allowed to hit you. I'm the only one who gets to do that." Regan folds his arms, blinks three times at me. "I can deal with him later."

Crisis averted. I drop onto the bed to get back to my hobby of staring at the ceiling and contemplating how much my life sucks of late. "Plenty of time later. Right now, we just keep out of sight of the Host until tomorrow's meeting, and we're golden."

"Assuming Esh-ban plays her part." My girlfriend stalks about the room, his arms crossed, and I can see in the way he moves that he wishes for his celestial form. A Balseraph in its true form can strike more quickly than any human vessel allows. "The Shedite has been watching, but its hosts can only get so close. We don't know what she's doing."

"She's either digging up information the contract requires, or she's going to be swamped in dissonance tomorrow." Or she's staring at melted ice cream, trying to decide before time runs out.

"She can convert the dissonance to Discord indefinitely. She could try running back to the Host." My Balseraph is finally worrying about this deal, too late for it to make a difference.

"Regan, give it a rest." He pauses to narrow his eyes at me, so I amend my next line. "She doesn't know anyone of her Word is in the city, right? As far as she's concerned, the only angels around are the Judges, and she believes that they'd kill her and abandon her attuned to us."

"No, we only told her they'd kill her. We didn't say anything about--" Regan stops short. "Leo. What have you been doing?"

He's no Seraph to tell if I'm lying, but I'd rather not have this bite me later. "I stopped by to see Esh-ban. A pleasant little meeting where I pointed out the disadvantages of trying to weasel out of the deal."

"You didn't tell me about this." Regan yanks me off the bed, and I'm getting tired of people hauling me around like this. "You didn't tell me you were _planning_ on that, or that you had done it. Did you intend to ever tell me?" His vessel's tall enough to do a fair job of looming when he shoves me up against the wall,. Right, Regan only objects to _other_ people shoving me around. We need to work on this aspect of our relationship.

"I'm trying to help your mission." He hasn't pulled out any weapons yet, which I'll call a good sign. "She needed a little shove, so I offered it, as long as I was in the area. What, did you expect me to find a phone and call you to ask permission?"

"You should have run the idea by me. It may even be an excellent idea, but I'm in charge, and I don't appreciate my plans being adjusted without notice." He digs a thumbnail into my chest. "We are not playing games like we did in college, Leo. My Prince has set me a task, and I will not let anything stand in the way of completing it. Or anyone. Even you." His breath brushes past my ear. "Do you understand?"

"Perfectly." And please back away without drawing knives. "If I'd realized it would be a problem, I would have mentioned it first." Because who wants to be threatened by a Balseraph of the War? The first rule of fire club is to get out alive.

"And next time?" Regan's not willing to let me off on general regrets this time. I hate it when he insists I roll over and bare my throat. It's never a good sign for the rest of the meeting.

"And next time I'll run the plan by you first, excepting that, say, you're engaged in mortal combat and I don't really have _time_ , because there's only so much I can do, Regan, and would you please either back off or get around to the stabbing already?"

He lets go, takes a step back, though I can't mistake that for real retreat. He's only deciding what approach he wants to take next. The churning sensation in my stomach suggests he's worked out how dependent I am on him. His arrogant smile confirms it. "Why would I stab you? I like you, Leo. It's a pity you're not good at working within a real command structure, but you'll get better."

"Yeah, eventually." I move away from the wall, and Regan's kind enough to let me walk past him without another reminder that he could put me through the wall. I'm ready for another nice long absence from my girlfriend after this. "Anyway. I don't think the Cherub will run crying for help any time soon, and tomorrow we find out if she's keeping her end of the deal or picking up more homicidal rage. I'm hoping for the former, because a Cherub betraying her own side fills me with more joy than trying to put down an insane angel. You didn't see how she went through my office. And my boss. The two of us might be able to take her, but I'd rather not find out." I sit down on the bed. "So I'm taking steps to ensure she doesn't believe killing us will solve her problems."

"You do excellent work, Leo. I appreciate that." Regan sits beside me on the bed, still smiling. "And I realize your organization isn't a model of clarity in its structure. Not to mention some of the people you've had to work for. Your latest supervisor couldn't handle any of your good suggestions, could she?"

I can see where he's going with this. "Every Prince has quirks. Yours organizes everything half to death, mine lets us sink or swim. I'm used to dealing with this."

"Of course you are," and Regan's using the tone patronizing adults do on a fussing child. "You'll be more effective once you're working for the War."

"I have no intention of switching sides." I'm on my feet before I realize it, hands curling into fists, and if he doesn't let this drop I'm going to break something. "Would you drop that? I don't want to work for the War, I don't want a transfer, and I'm helping you, not your Prince's Word. I am happy with Fire."

"You only think that because you've never served anywhere else." I hate his smug expression. I'm not supposed to be the one who loses his temper first. "Everyone believes their own Prince is superior to the others. It'll make more sense to you once you're serving mine."

"I'm not going to serve Baal. Why would he want me? What reason could my Prince have for sending me elsewhere?"

"You have don't much for your own Prince lately," Regan says, and triple-blinks when the lamp beside the bed shatters. He's lucky that wasn't aimed at him. "You're being unreasonable."

"You're the one suggesting I switch Princes! Like it's that easy! Or like I'd _want_ to!" Controlling my temper, I will _control_ my temper. Lose control, and I may as well be another idiot Calabite. "I am as loyal to my Prince as you are to yours, and that's the end of it."

"As you'd like," Regan says, by which he means he's dropping the topic to spare my feelings. How kind. "How is the kid,? Still alive?"

"Yeah, still alive, Marko's that competent." I sit down now that he's undercut my righteous fury. Some day he's going to piss me off while standing by an unstable heavy object, and I'll demonstrate that I have my means to express displeasure. "Since you're geased to keep her safe until you return her to Esh-ban, I'd think you'd be more concerned."

"Why should I be? You and the Djinn are keeping an eye. I don't see any of the angels in the city deciding to injure a child, even to get to us. They're ever caught up in their rules that way. It's a wonder they've kept the war going this long."

"Esh-ban didn't blink an eye at shredding our receptionist. I wouldn't trust the purity of an angel's purpose. They'll rip through humans as easily as you would, if provoked."

"You're still upset about losing your pet, aren't you?" He's amused. Bastard.

"No." He laughs, and I throw up my hands. "She wasn't my pet! But she was useful, and it does annoy me that the Cherub went through the whole office. Why do I have nothing to show to my Prince? Because my resources have been slashed. Literally. This is the problem with long-term plans." I flop down on the bed, on my stomach because I'm tired of seeing Regan smirk. "If Ylva comes out of Trauma before I accomplish something, she'll blame the fiasco on me."

"You're helping me. That must be worth something."

"Not much, Regan."

A hand drops down to scratch my back. "Maybe not to your Prince," he says, and I would glare, but then he might _stop_. "But you don't want to talk about that right now, I know. We can talk about it later."

"Later," I say. Never, if I have my say in it. When Regan talks about me working for the War, what he means is me working for him.


	24. An Interlude, In Which It Is Finally Wednesday

"Why are you telling us this?" Hakupha spoke less politely than her companions would have preferred.

The woman spread her hands. "I serve Stone, not War or Fire. Unlike them, I can see the benefits of having you in the city. Especially when this Outcast avoids her friends." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I believe Esh-ban ought to stand trial for what she's done here. The reports of murders are more than unsettling. Even if the humans were evil... This is not acceptable. It can't be. Something must be done."

"Mercurian," said Ruhamah. "I thought you were another Malakite."

"It's the company I keep." The Mercurian threw a handful of crumbs to the pigeons. "I followed them down because I knew that many Malakim in one place could lead to trouble. They needed someone who understands diplomacy. It seems I was right. She ran from someone she _knew_ , Most Holy. This cannot be good."

"There may be reasons for her to do so," said Dothan, standing stiff and proper beneath the tree beside the Cherub, "but I cannot think of any which could be considered 'good'. You were right to report this to us."

"I don't know how much it'll help. She keeps moving. But the Virtues are going through the neighborhood, and three more sets of eyes might help." The Mercurian smiled wryly up at the Ofanite circling the bench. "If nothing else, you may spook her into our direction. She'll run out of Essence eventually, if she keeps using that Song to escape."

Ruhamah perched on the back of the bench, watching the pigeons squabble over crumbs. "You have our thanks. Not least of which because your friends may be upset to find you spoke with us."

"I can see the benefits of cooperation with the rest of the Host, no matter my feelings. I don't have to be an Elohite for that." The Mercurian threw out the last handful of crumbs, then brushed her hands clean. "The others say you've been dealing with demons. I assume you have reasons for that, and the approval of your Archange. Do you have some reason for keeping any demons in this city alive?"

"No," Dothan said. "There are no demons in this city that we're aware of who we'd ask you not to kill."

"Good. Just so we're clear on everything." The Mercurian stood up, and nodded to each of them in turn. "Good luck. I'd prefer we find her first, but someone needs to."

The Ofanite joined the other two under the tree once the Mercurian had gone. "Where's the Destroyer now?"

Hakupha concentrated for a moment. "He's in a fair amount of danger, though nothing immediate. On the move."

"Between the same two locations as before?"

"Yes--no." The Cherub frowned. "He's heading off in another direction. Towards... I think, the place he called us in for that murder."

"That's not far from the neighborhood she gave us." Ruhamah snapped out a smile. "Let's go say hello to our little demon buddy."

"He's not our highest priority," Dothan said.

"No. But I don't believe in repeated coincidence. We can ask him where Esh-ban is. It's not out of our way, Most Holy."

"I would prefer not to waste the time."

"It shouldn't take us long," said the Cherub. "And there is a chance of more information."

"Very well." Dothan made mention of the vote in his notebook. "Let's deal with this detour quickly."


	25. In Which Things Go Boom

Saul's as twitchy in person as he was on the phone. "It's set up," he says, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "I mean, as well as we could manage. Some of the numbers...may be off."

"Off? What kind of off are we talking about?" I lean back against a pillar and match Carlos's surly look with my own sneer. "I left _instructions_ , Saul. Specific ones. I went over how all of this should work with you, Carlos. In detail."

"We went over how to do it with the original weight of explosives," the human says, hunched over in his jacket like it's cold down here. "We had _double_ that to work with. Adjustments had to be made."

I'd snarl at them about not asking me for clarification instead of assuming, but I didn't give them any contact info. I should have thought of this. "Fine. Adjustments. It's too late to change that." I'll make sure to be standing far away when this goes off. "Where's the switch?"

Saul passes it over gingerly, as if it might activate itself and blow us away. "Everything's good to go. You activate it by--" He shuts up when I look at him. "I mean, you know how to do that, I'm only saying... it's ready. Like you said."

"Great. Now get out of here, and keep an eye out for blackwings. The city's crawling with the Host today."

"More Malakim? How _many_?" The Habbalite squeaks on the last word.

"I don't know. One, two, half a dozen... What, you think I've been spending my time counting heads and checking IDs? Better hope you've been honorable." The switch seems to be set up how it ought, which is one good piece of news for the day. "Don't try to resonate any strangers and you'll be fine. Oh, and you probably don't want to stop by my apartment. Or the office."

"What about me?" Carlos has one hand lingering under his jacket, as if I can't tell he's brought a gun. This basement isn't cool enough to justify bulky clothing. "If the city is full of enemies, what am I supposed to do? They already killed Edward. And Gloria. And--"

"And Ylva, and the rest of the office, yes, I _know_. I was there." I drop the switch into my pocket. It's too hot for jackets, but I need the pocket space for a variety of reasons. "Why are you asking me? Consider it a test. Function effectively without direct orders, and maybe Ylva will play nice when she comes back."

"You can't leave me out there. With no protection." The human's voice pitches towards hysterics. "She would have taken care of me!"

"I wouldn't look for protection from a Djinn who can't protect herself," I say, and when the gun comes out I let it crumple in his hand. "However, _you_ might be problematic, running around without supervision."

"I wasn't going to--"

"Of course you weren't, because you never would have succeeded." The Hellsworn backs away as I advance. "You were never very bright, but didn't it occur to you that it couldn't work? What can one human do against someone like us?" Saul's not lending me his support right now; I can deal with him later. "You're not loyal, you've stopped being useful, you're a potential information leak... What reason do I have for not killing you?"

"The...the disturbance," he manages, pressed back against a wall. I haven't touched him, and he's convinced I could hurt him. He's right. "If you kill me, someone will hear the disturbance, and they'll come find _you_."

"You have a point, there, Carlos." I grin toothily at him. "Saul? Come lend me a hand."

Yes, if I shot him, it would make too much disturbance, and angels might show up early. So the Habbalite and I hold him in one place while I drop my resonance onto Carlos until he's dead. No disturbance that way. It's one of the reasons I love working for my Prince.

No other reasons are springing to mind today, but I'm sure there are more.

Saul stands there quietly while I check over the setup. He did an okay job, given time and knowledge constraints. "You didn't need to do that," he says.

"Maybe, maybe not. It's one less thing to worry about." And one less resource for Ylva when she comes back, if she decides to attack me. "Now get out of here. Back to the warehouse if you think it's secure, or out of the city, but somewhere else. You're on the surviving resource list, and I'd rather not get chewed out for losing you."

"Okay," Saul says. "Yeah. I can... I know a place I can go. I'll just lay low, until you call me."

"Lie low."

"I said I would!"

"No, I mean the word you want is--never mind." I pat him on the back as we head for the stairs. "I'll give you a call when things settle down. Unless I don't, in which case I'm probably in Trauma, and you ought to run for a Tether. But you don't want that to happen. The last man standing gets to explain to our Prince what went wrong."

It's petty of me to enjoy scaring a baby Habbalite. But I take my kicks where I can get them. He gulps, nods, and scurries out.

The Shedite smiles at me from the body of a junkie on the second floor, and tilts a wave to me as I pass. "He's waiting for you," it says, gesturing upstairs with a used needle. "Should be fun, shouldn't it?"

"Don't you have a Cherub to watch?"

"Djinn's got a fine reading on her," says the Shedite, but it puts away the needle to amble towards the entrance. "I'll make sure she gets inside. Wouldn't want her to be late for this. Pretty thing, isn't she? Bet she'd be _fun_ to have on your side."

I don't want her on my side; I only want to hurt her. "No, we wouldn't anyone to be late." It takes the hint, and moves faster.

Between the Shedite and the Djinn, it was easy to clear this floor of inconvenient witnesses. I tap twice on the door to what was once a hotel room, and step inside. "We're good to go."

"I'm not pleased to be sitting on top of armed explosives," Regan says. He stares at the one clean chair left in the room. "My idea of insurance is less...indiscriminate."

"No worries. The switch isn't on yet." I wave the detonator at him before putting it away again. "The basement's secured, and if we don't need this, so much the better. But I like having contingency plans for disaster."

Regan appears dubious of this, but says, "It looks like you worried over nothing. My side of the contract hasn't caused me any trouble."

More from luck than caution on his part, but I'm not in the mood for an argument. "Looks like." I take the chair, since he hasn't bothered. "Once this is over, I need to spend some time making my Prince happy. You'll want to get out of blast radius. I recommend a few blocks, minimum."

"I'll make sure you get credit for your assistance, Leo." By which he means credit with his Prince, and how much does approval from Baal get me? Nothing at all, at best. The suspicion of my own Prince, at worst.

"Thanks," I say, because in his own weird way Regan does mean well. I'd prefer that he go mean well at a distance, or in a manner that couldn't screw me over, but it's the thought that counts, right?

Regan paces while I pick at the fabric on the chair. This one's escaped from stains and destruction, despite its location, and I wonder what chance let it stay clean while the rest of the building was trashed. Life is full of strange coincidences. Where would I be now if Regan hadn't decided this was the perfect city for negotiating with Esh-ban? Back at my desk, tidying the final draft on that proposal for a series of low-income housing complexes. The entire design up to spec, not a single code violation in all of it, and ready to go up in flames at the slightest notice. It was a solid long-term plan.

I was happier when my life was less interesting.

"Incoming," Regan says, and a moment later I hear the movement outside. Then the hesitation at the door, because dreadful things such as ourselves wait inside. It's occasionally satisfying to be a dreadful thing. 

Esh-ban opens the door, steps inside. Her eyes aren't red-rimmed anymore.

"So good of you to join us today," Regan says, and he's dropped into the near-purr of arrogance I know all too well. I stay seated, picking at the arm of the chair. I've made a hole the size of a half-dollar coin, the ones they don't make anymore. Regan won't appreciate any comments from me unless the Cherub shows signs of snapping. The wrong sort of snapping.

The Cherub closes the door, leans back against it. She holds a cheap notebook in her arms, the kind you can buy in packs of three at a dollar store, and from the way she hugs it to her chest I wonder if she's attuned to it. Angels give their loyalties to the strangest things. "Everything you asked for."

"Everything you agreed to, dear." Regan waits, pretty smirk on his face, until she holds out the notebook. "Thank you."

"Everything you asked for. Where is she?"

"Patience." Regan flips through the pages, stopping to reread certain sections. "Are these to scale?"

"As near as I could make them, I _know_ she's here. I'm supposed to get her back now. That's the deal we made." Esh-ban's voice slides thinner, as if it might fray apart.

"Assuming you completed your side of the bargain, which I intend to confirm before fulfilling mine." Regan reaches the end of the pages. "Trade? What an interesting choice. Fire and War I expected, but not that one. How recent is the information on the Tether of War?"

"Seven months old." Her hands tremble. I wonder if she's found another knife. "I called them this morning. They haven't changed the personnel since I was last there. I don't know about the rest. It's as recent as I could find."

"You called to confirm? How proactive." Regan snaps open his briefcase. "This is delightful, Esh-ban. You've done better than I expected. Look at how well we can get along when we try." He sets the notebook inside, closes the briefcase again, and locks it. I suspect that suitcase would survive an explosion better than anyone standing in this room. "So long as you've provided us with reliable information, I consider your part of the contract fulfilled." He has a sharp smile. "And if you _haven't_ provided us with reliable information... That Geas may be troubling you over the matter."

"Everything you asked for. Give her back." Regan may be content to taunt, but I'm concerned by the way her hands shake.

I stand up, hands in my pockets. "Want me to take care of that?" Casually enough to make my Balseraph take notice, with a startled glance in my direction.

He recovers quickly. "Go ahead, Leo. Let's not keep her waiting. I can see she has appointments lined up after this, and it wouldn't do to make her late."

"Judgment gets annoyed at that," I say, and open the connecting door to the next room. As I close it, I can hear a quiet protest from the Cherub, but can't make out her words. Objecting to my presence, as like as not. If she tries to tell Regan I was recruiting for my Prince, that'll be entertaining.

We chose this suite--well, I picked it out, and Regan approved--for the three-room setup. I pass boarded windows and dusty, broken furniture, then it's through another door to a room in the back. Dark in here too, but I pried one board off the window to let in some of the afternoon light.

"You didn't answer," Katherine says, waving her walkie-talkie at me. "I wanted to ask if it was going to be longer, and you didn't _answer_." She stands by the window, clutching her bag of fast food toys and extra shirts like a shield, while Marko sulks in the opposite corner.

"Sorry, kid. Mine got broken." Or left in Regan's hotel room; I didn't remember to pick it up again when getting dressed this morning. "Do you still have the others?"

"I brought them. And the batteries." She crouches down abruptly to search through the bag, squinting in the dim light. "I put the batteries in, just in case, but I turned them off so that they wouldn't use the batteries or make noise. I know I'm supposed to be quiet, and I've been quiet the whole time back here." The kid glares at Marko. "He says stuff, but _I'm_ quiet."

"Good for you." I let her equip me with another walkie-talkie. This one might last a few days. "I have some good news for you. Your aunt came by to get you."

"Aunt Esther?" She isn't ready to believe me, wide-eyed as she holds her wrinkled plastic bag. "She's here?"

"What, didn't I tell you we were keeping an eye on her?" I pick the kid up, let her wrap her arms around my neck. "She's here just to see you. And she's been _very_ busy lately, so you'll want to go easy on her and not ask her nosy questions, got it?"

"I'll be good." The kid rests her head on my shoulder as I carry her back through the center room, the bag dangling behind my back. She won't let go of the bag or of my neck. "She's really here?"

"Really truly."

"I haven't brushed my teeth in days."

"I think she'll forgive you for that, Katherine." I shift the kid further to one side, and open the door. "End of the ride, kid. Go say hi."

Esh-ban pulls the kid out of my arms before I let go. The kid yelps at the grab. "Auntie--"

"It's okay," says the Cherub, and takes several steps back, still holding onto the kid. "It's going to be okay."

"Aunt Esther, you're _squishing_ me," the kid protests, for all that she's clutching Esh-ban right back. She scrambles to the ground as soon as she can get out of that grip, one hand latched onto the Cherub's arm. "You're--" The sentence ends abruptly in a hug. "I want to go home."

"We're going home soon." Esh-ban isn't looking at the kid. No, she's spending her long-awaited reunion staring at the two demons in the room, and she doesn't need Discord to have murder in her eyes. "I need to take care of a few things first."

"'kay." Humans may be idiots for the most part, but even Katherine can tell her auntie isn't in happy-fun mode. The kid's pale and quiet again, ready to freeze or wail as seems appropriate.

"I believe the Cherub means to get violent," I say in Helltongue, and I keep my expression friendly for the kid. "If she comes at me first... Let her."

"This is your idea of a plan?" Regan asks.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't step in if she's going to kill me, only give it a moment. Trust me on this one."

"It's your vessel to lose."

I switch back to English. "Was there anything else we could help you with... Esther?"

She can walk out of here with her attuned. I should be content with that resolution, leaving Esh-ban to deal with the mess she's made of her life. A moderate, satisfying success at the end of a complicated mission. It's unreasonable of me to want more.

If she walks out of here, I'm going to have to kill her. I'm not content. I refuse to let her ruin my life and come off no worse for the wear than dissonance and Discord she can beg forgiveness for.

"I want to go home," Katherine whispers, and pulls on the Cherub's arm. "I want to go home now. Please."

We can't have that, now. "I'll see you later, Katherine," I say in my most cheerful voice.

Ow.

I already knew Esh-ban could slash her way through an entire office, and how many Corporeal Forces does she _have_? I don't remember hitting the floor, but I'm there now, blood in my mouth, and she pulls back a fist--

"Stop," I say, choking back a laugh. It could be mistaken for fear.

"Don't hit him!" Katherine shrieks, flinging herself onto the Cherub. "Don't hurt him!"

The second blow stings more than the first, because this time I knew it was coming. I let myself gasp at the impact, it would be harder to stay quiet anyway, and then the kid's clinging to my neck, dripping sticky snotty tears all over me. "Stop it," she sobs, "stop it, you're hurting him."

"It's okay, Katherine," I say, and Esh-ban's weight lifts from me. I push myself up to sit on the floor, pat the kid awkwardly on the back, this _hurts_ , every move I make hurts. My mouth's full of blood and loose teeth. I swallow. "It's okay." Articulating the sounds of English is hard. I'm tired of ow. Bleeding every other day is like being back in college again. "She's just upset, is all. She won't do it again."

"I hate her," Katherine whispers, and clings to me, down on the floor together in a bloody heap. "Why did she _do_ that?"

The Cherub stares down at us. "I did it for you," she says. "I did it all for you, Katherine."

The kid holds onto me more tightly. "Go away, Aunt Esther. I hate you. You're awful and mean and I hate you."

"Aw, you don't mean that," I say, and wipe blood from my mouth.

"I do. I mean it." The kid presses her head against my chest, and I tilt my own head down to hide the smirk I can't suppress.

"All for you." Esh-ban's voice has lost its fervor. I look up to watch her standing there, fists bloody, and she watches right back.

No bolt from the sky. Only a gentle descent, like a sheet of paper fluttering to the ground.

I've never seen anything so beautiful.

"It's getting late," I say, and push my way to my feet, the kid in my arms again. Unsteady on my feet at this point, but this vessel will hold out a little longer. "Were you meaning to go soon? Because if you're not going anywhere in particular, you should stay with us. Safety in numbers, Esther. There are dangerous people about." Some more dangerous to her than they would have been thirty seconds ago.

"I don't know." Has she realized yet? She must have. "Wherever you're going. It doesn't matter."

"Marvelous." I set Katherine on the floor, pry her fingers loose from around my neck. "I'm not in any shape to hold you right now, kid. Stop crying, it's going to be okay."

"I'm not crying," the kid sniffles, and wipes her nose on the back of her arm. "You dropped it, Leo," she adds, and picks up the walkie-talkie from the floor. "You're supposed to hold onto it."

"I was a little distracted at the time." I take it back, turn her around to face Esh-ban. "Now you need to stick with your Aunt Esther, understood? She's going to take care of you."

"Don't want to."

"Sure you do. We've made up just fine, see? And she's going to fix things." It's a rare Cherub who doesn't have Corporeal Healing to keep her attuned safe. I fix Esh-ban with a sharp smile. "Isn't she."

"Out of Essence. Been out all day." She looks no different from how she did before. The same vessel, same bloody fists. The only change is in her eyes.

Celestial Discord will do that to you. I can be grateful that I've never been slapped with that kind of Discord, no matter how much trouble being Bound has caused me. "Then I'll lend you some. It's what friends do, right?"

Regan strangles a snicker behind us as I pass over a few Essence. He's been quiet during this little affair; he's clever enough to realize when his input wouldn't help. I'll have to thank him for that later. Esh-ban takes it wordlessly, sings me back to...not health. I ache too much to call this health. But I'm not bleeding anymore, which will do for the moment.

"See?" I take the kid's hand, and pull her over to Esh-ban, until one large hand has closed around a small one again. "There you go. Everything's fine, and your Aunt Esther will keep an eye on you. Stick close to her."

Marko skulks into the room, gaze flickering nervously about. "I heard the disturbance," he mutters, in Helltongue. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need to--" Regan stops, blinks. Loses his smile. "Incoming."

"How many?" I wipe my mouth again. Still the taste of blood. "And what direction?"

"Five, from the front of the building. They're at the door there." Regan switches back to English abruptly. "And now we're leaving. Marko, head down to the front. Be...distracting."

The little Djinn straightens up. "What kind of distracting?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. Go." Regan turns to consider the rest of us as Marko scurries out. What power my girlfriend has, to order someone to lose a vessel and be promptly obeyed. "A trip directly home would be problematic, wouldn't it? Very well. We'll rework the plan accordingly. Out the back door while they're playing with Marko in the front."

And thank you, Regan, for being _sane_ about this for once. I thought he'd try to take on every angel in the city because they happened to show up here. "So let's get going." Esh-ban's already pulling a weakly-protesting Katherine into the hallway.

"Slight problem," Regan says, back in Helltongue. "That Judge is attuned to you, and if you head out with us, they can all follow. You'll have to stay behind."

"...what?" No. You are not doing this to me, you are not doing this _now_ when I've let myself be tossed around to finish the job you couldn't do properly on your own. "You're not serious, Regan."

He steps in close, and smiles. "It's the only way. I'm sorry, Leo, but it is. I'll make sure you get credit for your help, but...I can't have you jeopardizing my mission." Regan rests his arms on my shoulders, and leans forward to whisper in my ear. "Trust me. Take care of this for me, make sure they stay here until we can get out safely, and I will make it worth your sacrifice. You need to do this for me."

"...fine." My goal is clear. Time to examine how to reach it. I had contingency plans for all sorts of circumstances, and while staying behind was far down the list... it was on the list. "I'll need to use the kid for this one."

"Esh-ban's likely to object," Regan says, and follows me out into the hallway, where Katherine fusses at the hand pulling her along.

"Not to this." I tap the kid on the shoulder. "Katherine, I need you to do something for me. It's important. Can you help me out?"

"I can," says the kid, turning to me. "What should I do?"

"Listen carefully, kid, because this is serious." I take out the switch, and pass it to her. "See this bit here? I want you to hold it down. Really tight. Can you do that?" She demonstrates, and I smile at her. "Great. Now, this is _really_ important, so I don't want you to let go of that. No matter what. Can you do that?"

Katherine nods seriously. "I can."

"Good." I take her hand, and turn on the trigger, making sure she's holding it down properly. A brief intake of air from Regan, who knows what happens if the kid lets go too soon. "Still got it? Good. Keep holding that. Now I need you to stay very close to your aunt and to Regan, understood?" I check the walkie-talkie she's hooked onto her jeans, make sure it's switched on properly. "And when you hear a beep from this, that's me telling you to let go. Can you do that for me?"

"You're not coming?" She's anxious again, but I can hear the disturbance from downstairs. Marko isn't going to last long, no time for reassurances.

"No, I need to stay here. I'll catch up with you later. Can you do this for me?" I put one hand beneath her chin, and tilt her head back to look me full in the eye. "Tell me honestly if you can."

"I can do it. I won't let go until it beeps."

"Good." I step back. "Now get out of here."

The three of them leave, and the kid's the only one who looks back towards me.

I whisper my Song around me, melt into shadows, and head upstairs.

The room at the top of the hotel must have been a ballroom once, too wide and empty for anything else. All the arched windows are still boarded up. I wander past them and let the boards dissolve as I go, sending the afternoon light streaming in. I've never lost a vessel before, but it's only a vessel. An imitation of death and nothing more.

My jaw still aches from when Esh-ban hit me.

The Cherub of Judgment is the first to enter the room, wary and ready to take any damage. The Ofanite next, orbiting the edges of the room to frown at all the half-opened windows. Wait, wait, wait. I'm only a shadow here.

When the Seraph stalks in, trailed by, no, that's _more_ than two Malakim, some of them a touch bloody, he's the one who sees me. Truth makes itself apparent to his Choir, or perhaps he only has keen eyes. "Destroyer," he says, such contempt from every syllable, "do you know where Esh-ban has gone?"

"Yes," I say. The Song's wearing off, and I'm surrounded by angels. Regan's resonance is wearing off, and I could have run before, I could have agreed to what he said and then ducked out another exit, but that's the tricky thing with Balseraphs. They're so very convincing when they want to be.

A triad of Judgment, and...five Malakim? I hadn't expected so many. It makes no difference. The triad could kill me without backup. I recognize the vessel on one of them, from back in the warehouse. I wonder if they'll jump straight to murder, or spend time on torture first.

"Then tell us, demon." Couldn't guess at which Malakite spoke, with my eyes still locked on the Seraph's. "Before--"

"Before what? You kill me? You're going to kill me anyway." I giggle, and cover my mouth with a bloody hand. Other hand on the walkie-talkie. I snap it on to the code setting. How many of them have backup vessels? As long as I'm being thoroughly screwed over by my best friend, I might as well do a good job of playing the fall guy and give him a chance to get away. The original set of explosives was supposed to take down this entire building, and there's twice as much packed in there. I don't know what's going to happen next.

I'm so far past terror, this is exciting. I'm going to take dissonance for this, I just know it.

The Cherub, standing near the doorway, stares at me. "What are you--" And then she pulls the Seraph behind her, towards the exit. "Out!"

The poor Seraph's in danger, I suppose. And the Ofanite racing after them, though I don't think she's figured out why. We're all in danger here.

"They're abandoning us?" asks one of the Malakim, so puzzled and haughty, while another turns to watch the triad run.

I hold down the button on the walkie-talkie. How reliable is my sweet little Katherine, who only wants to help? I don't know if I can trust her, I don't know if Regan will take the trigger away or turn it off, I don't know if this fragile bit of cheap electronics will still work after I've been holding it so long.

A Malakite pulls a sword, and advances. "What are you scheming at, demon?"

Come on, Katherine, now is not the time to


	26. An Interlude

Dothan coughed, and opened his eyes. Shut them again as grit tried to work its way in. Hakupha had been pulling him, and one always followed an anxious Cherub, it was only--

He tried to move, and found he couldn't. His back to something hard and immovable, and across him...

"Oh, Guardian," he said, and hacked again in the dust. Tried to move. Could still feel all of this vessel's limbs, though none of them could move, under an incomprehensible weight. It hurt to breathe.

He was too young to comprehend eternity. Nonetheless, it seemed to him that such a time passed, the air hot and dry around him, dust working its way into his lungs.

Dothan waited, and prayed.

A flicker of light, a shift in weight, and arms too strong for their size pulled him up. "Don't forget her," he tried to say, but he couldn't through the coughing. He fought for purchase on the ground as weights were removed from his legs, held onto the arms giving him assistance.

"Quiet, hyena," murmured the Malakite, as they stumbled together over rubble. The sky had gone dark during that eternity, and Dothan couldn't see clearly through grit and blood. "Or do you want the attention of the authorities?"

"Not the mortal authorities," Dothan said, and let himself be supported by the Virtue, who wore a slim, unassuming female vessel. "But the Guardian--"

"Her vessel is dead. I only found you because I saw her body first." The Malakite's grip spoke of steel bands. "And your Wheel I found too, when searching for the Mercurian. Be thankful you survived. None of _us_ kept a vessel in that."

"What happened?" There had been running, and then... He couldn't remember. No sound or sensation, only the knowledge that there had been a moment between the running and the waking up, in which something happened.

"Near as I can figure? That demon had the building wired." The Malakite spit on the ground as they walked. "I don't know how he did it. Not a whisper of disturbance, and the whole building went up. Must have had Hellsworn assistants. You didn't know that when you dealt with him, did you?"

"He serves Fire. I cannot understand why he would sacrifice his own vessel. It would be dissonant for him." Dothan turned his mind away from thoughts of Hakupha and Ruhamah. He would visit them at their Hearts once he returned to Heaven, but this was not a moment to lose himself in emotional response.

"Demons are crazy, right? I don't know. Maybe he meant to run for it and we caught him first." The Virtue led him past the fire trucks and ambulances, around the clusters of police, and they should have been stopped, but they were not. All the humans scurried to and fro, hoses and stretchers at the ready. "The search-and-rescue groups have been keeping away from that part of the building. Too near the fires, and too unstable."

"Fires?" Dothan blinked at the night, began to parse the more distant sounds and lights.

"They put out the building on one side, but the other's still burning. I've only caught a few snatches of conversation between looking, but it sounds like the explosion damanged the foundations on both. Hell, the blast took out a quarter of that one before anything caught on fire." The Virtue led him into a dark alley beyond the chaos. "Do you want to hear the worse bad news, now?"

"No," Dothan said. "But I ought to." His throat burned, as if he'd been screaming. All the world smelled of smoke.

"Esh-ban's Heart has broken. Joshu had left his near hers, and..." The Virtue took a shuddering breath, and Dothan realized she was holding back tears. "She's gone. We tried, but she's _gone_ , and she never let us help her. We could have. No matter what she'd gotten into, we could have _helped_ her, and she wouldn't let us. Never called for help." She laughed, a strangled sound. "Makes your job easier."

"I would rather my job be a thousand times more difficult, if by that I could have prevented her Fall," Dothan said, and collapsed to sit on the ground, no matter that the alley was filthy. "I wish..." He declined to finish the sentence in such company.

"Here." He looked up, and found the Virtue was offering him a cell phone. "The roaming charges are going to be hideous, I usually work on a different _continent_ , but it should function here. You probably want to call someone."

"Thank you," said Dothan, and stared at the phone for a moment before he decided on what number to dial.

"Hello?"

"It's Dothan," he said, and realized he didn't know how to continue.

"Good! Good. I think. I was beginning to worry. Were you involved in that explosion--"

"Yes. What's your situation?" Dothan stood up, despite the protests of his vessel's legs.

"I have a hysterical Punisher on my hands, Most Holy. Or at least, I did. I dosed him with enough sedatives to knock out a horse and stowed him in the guest room. He wasn't very coherent, but I get the impression he believes his Superior will blame him for this. Which suggests it _wasn't_ the plan, isn't that interesting? What a Servitor of Fire should have against explosions and burning buildings I don't know. I'm not sure he does either."

The image provided a small, momentary comfort. "Can you leave him alone for an hour or two? I need assistance."

"Sure, he'll be out for hours. If you're near the explosion... Let me see." He could hear her tapping away at a keyboard. "They've shut down streets for a block around. There's an abandoned laundromat two blocks south of that location, on Williamson. I can get there in fifteen minutes. Can you wait that long? Anything I should bring?"

"I believe I can wait. I'll call again, should the situation change. Bring...water." Dothan hung up the phone, and passed it back to the Malakite.

"I didn't know you had anyone else local," said the Malakite.

"A Saint of Judgment," Dothan said. "I would not involve her if others were available. She has other duties to keep to."

The Malakite stared bleakly at the smoke rising overhead. "Don't we all."


	27. Another Interlude

Katherine sprawled across the back seat. "He's not answering." She pressed the button on the walkie-talkie again. "Leo? Are you there?"

When she received no response from the adults in the front of the car, she leaned between them. "Aunt Esther, do you think the batteries are dead? Can we stop and get more batteries?"

"Sit down, Katherine," said Aunt Esther.

Katherine frowned, and slid back into her seat. "But he's not answering. What if something went wrong?"

"Don't worry," said Regan, even though he sounded like he was worried about Leo too. "He'll be fine. Back in a few days, right as rain."

"But he's not answering!"

"Maybe he's busy," Regan said, and Katherine didn't like how he sounded, like there wasn't any reason for Leo to want to hear her at all. "Sit down and shut up, kid. We have miles to go."

"You're the one who chose a city with no Tethers," Aunt Esther said, and that didn't sound right either.

But maybe it was everyone being upset because of the fight. Katherine didn't like thinking about it. Soon she'd be home, and everything would be okay again. Leo would be fine, once he caught up with them. Everyone said so.

Katherine knelt in the seat to peer out the back window. Dark road stretched out behind her. "Where are we going?" She wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and no one had told her to put one on. Everything was weird.

"Sit down," said Regan. "We're going home."


	28. In Which I Am Back

In Which I Am Back

A Heart.

My Heart.

I haven't seen it since my Prince made it for me, gave me a vessel, and tossed me to Earth. There's nothing else like it. Everything I've ever touched, broken, owned has been transitory, fragile, impersonal. This is mine. The only thing in the world that belongs to no one but me and my Prince. Dark glow and steady pulse, it's mine, the heart to my soul. Ready to burn any who try to touch it, on my behalf.

Enough with sentimental nonsense. I need to get back to work.

I stand up and stretch, feeling my Forces settle uneasily around me, as if they've been ripped apart and stuffed back into a me-shaped mold. So that's what Trauma feels like. An awful nothing, and then waking up at my Heart.

Flames surround me. Home sweet home, in the lake of fire. I walk out as fire curls around me and does me no harm, step into the Principality I haven't seen in years. Across the burning plains of Sheol, gold-painted domes shimmer in the heat.

"Awake?" A small Djinn snuffles at my feet. It's a tangled creature of soot-blackened chitin and hairless limbs, its body spotted in blisters. "Awake. Right. Taking you to see her. Like I'm s'posed to."

I pinpoint the reason I feel I'm put back together wrong: dissonance, humming through my bones. Only the one note, but it's an itch I can't scratch, a buzz I can't shut out. "To see whom?" I need to explain this sloppy state of affairs to someone, and I'm not looking forward to it.

"The Captain," says the Djinn, and pulls itself across the rough ground hand-by-pincer. "Wants to see you."

I follow the Djinn across the plain, past wailing human souls, skulking demonlings, smaller demons who torment souls for the Essence and dream of a chance on Earth as a proper Servitor.

My wings stretch out behind me, ragged and beautiful, but what's the point? There's no flying here. As useless an ornament as my horns in this form. Very nice to see home again, but I don't want to _stay_ here.

I review my explanations in silence. The Djinn leads without speaking, doing what it's told without caring for the why or what. Maybe some day it can skulk on the corporeal plane, stalking its attuned and feigning apathy.

We reach the golden domes sooner than I'd like. This would be easier if I knew what happened while I was in Trauma. How can I argue from results when I don't know what the results were?

Despite everything, I hope Regan got out safely.

The name on the door does not surprise me, when the Djinn stops. Captain now? When I served her before, she was still a Knight. She's moving up in the ranks. "Go ahead," says the Djinn, curling pink arms around itself. "Said you should go right in. Wants to see you."

Oh, joy.

I step into the office, and wait silently in front of her desk while she burns papers. It's a ritual: pick up a sheet of paper from the stack, read it, set it on fire, drop the blazing remains into the trash can.

She's installed a new line of rings along one forearm, tiny gold circlets embedded in her skin, and two red scars parallel the row.

"Like them?" The Habbalite smirks at me, and doesn't indicate a seat, so I keep on standing. "I could install a set for you too, sweetheart. Spell out your name across your back in them. It would be cute."

"No, thank you." I am not shaking. I am not. I can save my breakdown for later, when I have a moment of privacy.

"You haven't forgotten your manners. Good. Some people pick up filthy habits on the corporeal." She points to a chair, warped steel bound into something more uncomfortable than standing. I drop into it. Manacles dangle from the arms and legs, ready to be clamped down on the chair's occupant. Her decorating style was always pointed. "Now, I've already picked up most of the story from Ylva, bless her apathetic little heart. Did you know she foams when she's upset? She said this was all your fault, but I expected that, so how about you give me your side of things?"

I shrug loosely. "According to the script, I'm supposed to blame it on Solveig. Or has he already been through?"

"Show a little spark, Leo. Come on. Impress me with your master plan. Tell me how this was part of a scheme you pulled off _almost_ perfectly." She smiles at me, all her teeth capped in steel points. "I'm listening, kitten."

I've been here before. Never assume she wants to be sweet-talked when she wants the truth. "It wasn't a master plan. What happened was Ylva tried to show off, her plan ran into some scheme from the War, and before I knew what was happening I had a triad of Judgment and half a dozen Malakim to deal with, plus an insane Cherub of Fire." I run one finger around the jagged edge on the arm of this chair. "I would have pulled it off anyway, if I hadn't been Balseraphed into playing the martyr at the last minute."

"Poor little boy. Couldn't keep your head on straight against a Liar?"

"Apparently not."

She leaves her desk to circle me, snapping her fingers into flame idly as she goes. "If you hadn't gone out in that explosion, you might have impressed someone. Pulling it off without disturbance was clever, and you've always been a clever Destroyer." Her nails draw thin lines of blood across my skin when she touches me, and the flames brush like tiny feathers. "It was a _lovely_ finale, Leo, except for not getting yourself out."

"I know." But I don't know what she's getting at. If I were losing my immunity to fire, my Prince would remove it personally. If I were getting a new vessel... again, he'd be the one to cower before, not thisHabbalite. I'm smart, I'm useful... Surely he won't leave me in Hell. I'm _worth_ something on Earth.

"Seems to me you've been hanging around with bad influences." It takes me a moment to parse what she means. "Staying behind to make sure other Servitors get out would be considered honorable if you were working for, say, Baal. But it's not suitable for a Servitor of Fire, is it?"

I can see the doom reaching up to swallow me. "No. It isn't." I'm going to kill Regan. If I live through this, I am going to track her down and kill her. Personally. And explain why I'm doing it.

"Fortunately, there's a neat solution to your new bad habit." She flicks through the papers on her desk, then pulls one out to wave in front of me. "The Prince of the War wants to borrow you. It seems he was pleased by what you did, and how well you helped out his own Servitors. Isn't that sweet?"

"But--"

"Hush, darling." She returns to her seat, and pulls open a drawer. "Be glad you're getting off lightly. Our Lord has little patience for a Servitor who does in his own vessel, no matter how many of the Host lose theirs in the process. I'm disappointed in you. You _should_ have come up with a better solution." The set of documents she slides across to me are passes for travel to Gehenna. "Maybe you'll fit in better over there. Or maybe you won't. It'll be an exciting little adventure while you find out, won't it?"

"Indubitably," I say, though it comes out as a whisper.

"Run along, then. It wouldn't do to keep anyone waiting."

"No," I say, and stand up. All the fires of Sheol to hold my Heart, and I'm sent off to the cold battlefields of Gehenna. "I suppose it wouldn't."


End file.
